


Lines and Shapes

by MessOfCurls



Series: Lines and Shapes [1]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Art, Art AU, Artists, Body Image, Bromance to Romance, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Nostalgia, Nude Modeling, Nudity, Public Nudity, Tattoos, artist!josh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14066703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: Standing there with the tie to his robe clasped between his fingers, it was finally dawning on him what he was letting himself in for; that he had to get naked in front of a dozen people and remain that way for two hours.Two whole hours. Completely naked.---When Chris agrees to model at a life drawing class, he doesn't expect anyone he knows to be in attendance.





	1. Over My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesperadoRaspado](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesperadoRaspado/gifts).



> For the awesome DesperadoRaspado. Thank you SO much for this prompt, dude! <3

“Knock, knock?”

Chris looked up from his bag with a start, hand stilling as the cheery voice beyond the door jolted him from his thoughts. He pulled the robe around him a little tighter, unconsciously checking the tie with his fingers. “Yeah-- uh… Come in?”

Annie pushed the door ajar and peered into the cramped room. Smiling, she entered, tucking errant frizzy curls behind her ear.

“Everything okay? Can I get you anything before we go in?”

“Nope, I think I’m good to go,” Chris said, glancing at his belongings.

“Great. What else, what else…” Annie muttered to herself. “I showed you the fire exits, right?”

Chris couldn’t help smirking at that. The idea of heading out into the street in his current state of undress was unappealing at best, only marginally better than the prospect of facing down a kitchen fire.

“You did.”

“Good.”

Annie gave him another smile then fell quiet, just long enough for Chris to shift awkwardly on his feet.

“Well,” she said finally, clapping her hands together. “I think that's it. Any questions?”

Chris leaned back against the desk, folding his arms across his chest in what he hoped was a casual manner. His first instinct was to crack a joke, but with self-doubt creeping in, he thought better of it. The situation felt a little surreal now that he was there. But then, standing in the pokey back office of a coffee shop wearing nothing but a bathrobe and sandals wasn’t exactly his average Wednesday night.

“Any advice?” he asked hopefully.

Annie paused, chewing her lip. A moment later, her smile was back in place. “Yes, actually. Save your more comfortable poses for later, ‘cause that’s when you’re _really_ going to start feeling it.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. There’s more to it than just standing around, you know,” Annie chuckled. “We’re going to do a few short poses, just a few minutes each, then a couple of slightly longer poses, a quick break, then two long poses to finish.” She tilted her head to one side and fixed Chris with a warm smile. “Think you can manage that?”

Chris nodded, his smile a little less convincing than before. “I’ll give it my best.”

It sounded so simple when she laid it out, so easy; only there wasn’t much ‘we’ about it. After all, she wasn’t the one who had to do it. Regardless, Annie seemed not to sense his apprehension and pressed on.

“Thanks again for doing this. We’ve got a full house tonight for the first time in… oh, I don’t know how long. A while.”

“Wow, that’s…”

_Fuck._

“...great.”

Annie’s mouth widened to a grin. She gave the blond a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Relax, you’ll be fine. We don't bite.”

_Relax?_

Chris _had_ been relaxed, or calm at the very least. But with the reality of what he was doing looming imminently over him, he ran the risk of getting cold feet, and Annie’s sentiment went unheeded despite her soothing tone. Standing there with the tie to his robe clasped between his fingers, it was finally dawning on him what he was letting himself in for; that he had to get naked in front of a dozen people and remain that way for two hours.

Two whole hours. Completely naked.

_It’s gonna be fine._

It would be, the rational part of him knew that, but it did little to comfort him.

Despite outward appearances, Chris had always been sort of self-conscious. He supposed it was probably part and parcel of growing up on the larger side; teenage hang-ups lingering long after he should have outgrown them. Back in high school he’d hidden beneath layers even in the summer months, and had managed to get covertly changing in the locker room down to an art form; habits he still couldn't quite shake years later.

His body had changed since then. He hadn’t gone to college on a sports scholarship, that was for damn sure, but puppy fat had given way to firmer flesh, growth spurts to lengthened limbs. It didn’t matter though. It was difficult to get past that old image of himself sometimes, despite what he saw in the mirror.

Still, he was in a good place. As he’d gotten older, he’d worked to keep in shape, finally reaching a stage of being happy in his skin. He was comfortable… ish. So, what better way to challenge himself than stripping off for a life drawing class?

It seemed like a great idea when he'd thought of it, a conscious decision to push himself, his choice. It felt good getting in touch with Annie to arrange it. Even on the way to the class that evening, he’d felt prepared. Now that he had to follow through on the idea, those positive feelings had inconveniently vanished.

“So, if you’re ready?” Annie half-asked, checking her watch. “You can leave your stuff here. I’ll lock up.”

“Thanks.”

Chris took a final glance at his clothes, piled neatly on the beaten-up swivel chair beside his bag, and followed Annie out of the office. He waited by the door and took a long, deep breath while she locked it, willing his shoulders relaxed.

_You can do this._

He managed to draw a little confidence from the thought and followed Annie along the corridor, past the restrooms, until they emerged into the shop proper.

He’d seen the place by day before, playing host to a steady stream of business. It was a cliché run-of-the-mill independent coffee shop, complete with works by local artists on display - ranging from impressive to downright dire - all for sale at optimistic prices. It felt strange being there after hours without the bustle of its usual clientele - the regulars settled in the ‘eclectic’ mishmash of chairs and couches with their noses buried in a book or hunched over laptops at one of the artfully distressed tables - almost as if he was privy to something he shouldn’t be. Without the default mix of KT Tunstall and Joshua Radin that usually played through speakers, concealed by succulents and Boston ferns in upcycled plant pots, the air felt heavy and far too quiet.

Chris rounded the counter and passed the empty tables and chairs, suppressing a fresh bout of nerves as he caught snatches of murmured conversation beyond the flimsy-looking room divider cordoning off the back room. If he were alone, he might have loitered there a while longer and given himself a pep talk before venturing inside. But with Annie walking on ahead and the class due to start at any moment, he didn’t get the chance.

Annie shifted a section of the folding screen aside, and Chris followed her in, feigning an air of nonchalance as she pulled it back in place behind them. The tables had been pushed back against the far wall with the other unnecessary furniture, replaced with stools and easels that had seen better days. They were arranged in a circle facing inward, leaving a well-lit space in their midst.

Chris hung back and waited for the students to fall quiet, but his entrance received scant attention, a few fleeting glances at most. Safe from scrutiny, he lingered by the screen and watched them prepare for the class, adjusting their stools, rifling through their bags and laying out their supplies. The group was a mix of ages; a few guys, some girls, if the surreptitiously glimpsed mops of hair were anything to go by. Chris wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting, but they looked normal enough.

_Fuckin’ duh. Of course they look normal. They're people._

Though glaringly obvious, the observation still came as much-needed relief. They were just people. Normal, everyday people.

_You’ve got this. It’s no big deal._

Chris wanted to believe it; he knew it was true. Except it was sort of maybe kind of starting to feel a _little_ bit like a big deal. Though he instinctively glanced away whenever one of the students looked his way, he didn’t need to see their faces to know that Annie hadn’t been exaggerating about the turnout.

For better or worse, Chris didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Annie caught his eye, beckoning Chris over with a wave of her hand, and he edged between two easels, mumbling his apologies before joining her in the centre of the room.

“Hello, everyone,” Annie said, and the murmurs gradually died down at the sound of her voice. “I see some familiar faces and a few new ones. If it’s your first time...”

Chris listened as she gave the class a rundown of the evening, but a few sentences in he found himself tuning out. Unable to resist the urge, he chanced a look at the students, expecting to see a dozen pairs of eyes staring back at him, but was pleasantly surprised to find that Annie held their attention for now.

_You’re never going to see any of them again._

Chris looked around again if only to sate his curiosity. The group seemed utterly unfazed by his presence, much to his relief, more preoccupied with setting up their workstations than him for now.

With one exception.

_...What?_

Chris’ eyes widened, a sudden swell of nausea rising in his gut when a familiar face peered back at him from across the room, dark green eyes meeting his own.

_Fuck._

Josh was there.

_FUCK._

Why the hell was Josh there?

_Because he’s the one who told you about this class in the first place, maybe, idiot?_

Chris suppressed a wince, belatedly connecting the dots. Despite that knowledge, the possibility that Josh might be in attendance had somehow never even crossed his mind.

“...Oh, and just a reminder to keep the floor around you clear. So, bags at the back or up on a chair, please.”

Josh continued to stare, more confused than amused, his mouth open just a touch as though he must be mistaken. Finally convinced of what he was seeing, he lifted his hand from the drawing board spread across his lap, silently acknowledging Chris with a fleeting waggle of his fingers and a raised eyebrow.

Cringing, Chris reluctantly mirrored the gesture and silently willed the ground to swallow him up. It was like a car crash; he wanted so badly to look away but couldn’t. Being naked in front of a room full of strangers was one thing - he’d just about prepared himself for that - but doing it in front of someone he knew?

_Oh, well, fuck my life, I guess?_

It was too late to bail. That ship had sailed a long time ago. With no other option, his only hope was to keep himself together long enough to see the other side of the class. Right then, the end seemed a lifetime away.

“So,” Annie said, turning to him, “please welcome our model for the evening, Christopher.”

Chris felt their eyes upon him, the first time the group had paid him any obvious attention. He forced a smile.

“Let’s get started.”

Moving on automatic, Chris removed his sandals.

_And this is when I’m standing alone in the middle of the dance floor at prom. And my old gym teacher tells me to climb the rope in front of the class. And I’m late for finals. And my teeth are falling out. And--_

“Christopher?”

He looked up from his feet as if coming out of a daze. “Huh?”

“Your glasses?”

“Uh, right.”

Chris fumbled with his glasses then handed them to her. Maybe it would be better without them. At least it would be harder to see the people staring at him.

Sensing his unease, Annie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Everything okay?”

_Shit shit shit fuck shit..._

“Yep.”

“Great,” she said, holding out her free hand expectantly.

Chris took a breath and swallowed down the tangle of nerves twisting in his throat.

_Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?_

He quickly silenced the many answers that sprang to mind and forced his smile back in place. Surrounded by a dozen aspiring artists eager to put charcoal to paper, he took another deep breath and loosened the tie to his robe, shrugging it from his shoulders.

_Here we go..._

He tried not to think, overcome by a strange separation of mind and body as he disrobed, the feeling of air on his skin and the interest he was attracting sensed distantly as if it was happening to someone else.

_There. Done. It’s-- I’m..._

Annie took Chris’ robe then made her way out of the circle. Settling against the wall, she gave him a patient smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

_Okay…_

Chris pulled in his stomach and struck a pose, barely resisting the urge to clasp both hands, fig-leaf style, over himself while he silently prayed that the blood firmly colouring his cheeks rushed nowhere else. From the corner of his eye, he saw Annie set a timer on her phone.

Silence descended over the room. Swallowing hard, Chris braced himself.

No gasps. No laughter. No reaction. Nothing. Other than the occasional creak of the artists shifting in their chairs and the soft rub of charcoal on paper, little else broke the quiet.

_This is fine._

After a solid minute of hearing his heart thumping in his head, a numbing calm settled over him. He glanced over at Annie for reassurance, determined not to make eye contact with any of the artists. She gave him an encouraging smile.

_This. Is. Fine._

He clung to the thought, gaze fixed on the far wall. The hard part was over; the band-aid ripped off. All he had to do was stay there.

“Okay, something low down now, please?” Annie said, resetting the timer; the request accompanied by the rustling of paper and a brief flurry of movement beyond the easels and drawing boards.

Chris hesitated then took a knee, one fist pressed to the floor. Staring at the ground, a pang of anxiety made itself known. Why hadn’t he prepared poses? Or given a tiny bit of thought to what he might do? The idea to prepare or practice had never even occurred to him, but it seemed like what he was doing was good enough. Nobody had asked him to do anything differently. But then, nobody was saying _anything_.

A few minutes later, Chris was on his feet again, arms outstretched while he stared at the point where the walls met the ceiling, feeling a little surer of himself. But minutes into his next pose paranoia took hold again. Was the strait-laced, dark-haired girl sniggering at her etchings or her subject? Why was the bearded hipster narrowing his eyes and scrutinising him like a scientific specimen?

He picked another spot on the wall and kept his focus on that instead, occasionally glancing at nearby sketches and seeking refuge in faraway thoughts. More quick poses followed, the end of each signalled by the increasingly familiar beep of the timer, and then, like clockwork, the rustling of paper as the artists moved on to fresh sketches. It felt a little more natural as he became used to the routine, not quite so awful, but still the time dragged.

“Okay, this one’s for fifteen minutes.”

Following Annie’s advice, Chris picked a more comfortable pose and turned around, twisting at the waist, hand on hip. Fixed in his new position, he covertly glanced around from the corner of his eye, but beyond a few snatched glimpses nobody seemed to pay him much notice, focused on their work. Even Josh didn’t seem interested in him, a slender stick of charcoal held between his fingers while he pondered the paper in front of him, sketching away like he didn’t know him. There was no hint of recognition there anymore, no engagement at all.

Soon, Annie was asking for another long pose. Staring off into the distance, Chris tried to distract himself from aching muscles by following the paths of the exposed pipework along the ceiling and reading the chalkboard behind the faraway counter; both tasks made harder without his glasses. After reviewing the specials on offer for the fifth time, Annie’s voice broke the quiet.

“Right, that’s time. Five minutes and we go again.”

Chris exhaled relief, arms falling to his sides as the spell of quiet concentration dissipated, the first half of the session drawing to a close. A moment later, Annie was beside him, holding out his robe and glasses.

“How are you finding it?”

“Yeah, okay, I think?” he mumbled, hurriedly fastening his robe.

Annie wore a knowing smile, guessing at his thoughts. “We’re doing a few longer poses after the break, so you can sit down and give your legs a rest.”

Chris took a moment to inspect his glasses, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Great.”

“Well, if you need water or something, just let me know, alright?”

“Yeah, will do.”

Chris lingered in the middle of the room after Annie left, glancing beyond her to the stools and easels. A few people remained by their work while others talked among themselves or helped themselves to refreshments, but they weren't who held his attention.

Josh was still in his seat, contemplating the board spread across his lap. Chris watched him, chewing his lip while he wondered how best to play it. Going over to say hi was the obvious choice, making the first move and taking control of the situation. Sure, it would be awkward, _really_ fucking awkward, but far weirder if he didn’t.

After securing his robe a final time, Chris sheepishly approached. “Hey?”

Finally satisfied with whatever he’d been puzzling over, Josh lifted his head, eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Hey…”

Josh placed the board on the stool in front of him and slowly got to his feet. He cocked his head and blinked, a picture of innocence. “...How’s it hanging?”

Chris huffed and glanced away. “Pretty sure you know.”

Josh held his deadpan expression a moment longer, mouth twitching at the corners before he finally cracked, succumbing to the incredulous smile he'd been fighting back. “So… What the _fuck_?”

“What can I say? The money’s pretty good, you know?”

“Hard times, huh?” Josh asked. “The start of a promising new career?”

Chris smirked. “Something like that.”

“...This isn’t a hugging situation, is it?” Josh asked, giving Chris a quick once over, overcome by disbelief once more.

Chris shook his head. “No, dude. It is not.”

Josh flashed a grin, chuckling as his broad smile softened. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing here, man?”

It was a simple question, but Chris still paused, a moment of deliberation passing before he shrugged. He could have gone into it, explained the logic behind it, but in that moment his reasons felt… stupid?

“Something to do, right?” he said simply, rolling his shoulders. “Man, it’s harder than it looks though.”

“You having fun at least?”

“Well, it’s not as humiliating as I thought it might be, so there’s _that_. Kinda thought I’d get more of a reaction though,” Chris admitted, glancing around the small room. “I mean, it’s not like I expected a standing ovation or anything, but…”

“Why?” Josh asked. “People go to these classes to draw naked models. It’s kinda the whole point of coming?”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Chris shrugged again, smile turning lopsided. “I dunno, dude. This is all new to me.”

“Try not to overthink it. Tonight you’re just an object.”

“Oh. Well. When you put it like that, it’s not demeaning at all.”

“No, man. I just mean that nobody here is interested in you as a person.”

Chris placed his hand on his chest, eyebrows raised. “Okay, ouch. Rude.”

“Bro…” Josh shot Chris a look, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Look, all I’m saying is they’re only interested in drawing you, that’s all. Right now, you might as well be an interesting bowl of fruit.”

Chris folded his arms over his chest and considered Josh's words. “A bowl, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Chris’ lips curled into a smirk. “Well. Hate to break it to you, bro, but your flirt game is way off, ‘cause this right here?” He motioned between them. “Not doing it for me.”

“No?” Josh asked, taking the bait.

“Nope.”

“You sure, man? ‘Cause I could swear--”

Chris peered at Josh over his glasses. “Trust me, dude.”

“Ah, well,” Josh muttered. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, huh?”

Chris found himself relaxing as Josh’s overblown sigh gave way to wry amusement, feeling somewhat lighter for it. Lowering his voice, he uncrossed his arms and leaned in closer. “How am I doing? Honestly?”

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

Josh gave him an encouraging smile. “Yeah, don’t stress.”

Chris watched Josh wipe blackened fingers on the front of his jeans, leaving grey smudges behind. He hadn’t seen Josh for a while, couldn’t pinpoint the last time they’d met up, but on the surface, little had changed. Josh looked the same as always, same clothes, same hair. Even the crooked smile he wore was reassuringly familiar.

“How long’s it been?”

Josh paused to consider it. “Uh… Three months? At Sammy’s thing, right?”

Chris remembered the moment Josh said it: Sam’s birthday, a low-key gathering back at the beginning of the year. An evening of drinks and rehashing old jokes, good but all too brief. It felt like no time had passed since then, and the unwelcome realisation of just how long it had been was sobering.

“Shit, you’re right. You see her much?”

“Sometimes. Not as much as I’d like, but yeah, probably a whole lot less if it wasn’t for Bee.”

“They good?”

“Yeah, really good. They’ve finally started looking at apartments together, so.”

“Yeah? About time.”

“ _Right_?” Josh said, smiling softly.

“When are they--”

“Christopher?”

Chris turned toward the sound of Annie’s voice. She was standing in the middle of the room beside a chair, a new addition to the arrangement of furniture and easels.

His gaze returned to Josh. “Well… Guess that’s my cue. Go easy on me, huh?”

“Sure.” Josh smiled, two fingers pressed to his temple in a lazy salute as the blond walked away.

It felt easier disrobing the second time, the weight of the artists’ eyes upon him not quite as heavy or daunting as before. Still, Chris made an effort to avoid eye contact with the group when Annie called them back. He took his seat and tried not to fidget while Annie introduced the second half of the class, the threat of returning nerves felt distantly as she started the timer and the chatter stopped.

Holding his pose, Chris glanced around the room until his gaze settled on Josh, but the smile and dancing green eyes were gone. Josh was distant again, quietly working just the same as everyone else. Even when the brunette looked directly at him, he did little more than smile softly once or twice, more focused on the task at hand.

_At least this’ll make for a good story._

There was that, Chris supposed. Hell, he could see himself dining out on it for a while. A few of their friends would probably get a kick out of it.

In the quiet, Chris' mind wandered to more mundane matters, only realising how much time had passed when the timer on Annie’s phone went off. Finally, after another extended pose - along with pins and needles in his left leg and an itch just west of his right thigh - the session drew to a close, and Annie returned to him.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll unlock the office,” she said, handing him his robe.

Chris nodded as she left, tying his robe with a sense of relief. The experience hadn’t been as excruciating as he'd imagined. No one had laughed. He hadn’t made a _total_ ass of himself. In fact, it had been sort of okay? Sure, he hadn’t done much, he knew that, but looking around the room, he couldn’t entirely quell his sense of achievement.

Robed once more, he looked over at where Josh had been but found his stool empty, the brunette already on his feet in conversation with a fair-haired girl a few seats away. Eventually, Chris caught his eye, and Josh gave him a nod.

With Josh busy and Annie preoccupied - accosted by a student while she cleared away the furniture - Chris made his way out of the circle. He slowly walked the perimeter while the artists packed up their belongings, stopping every so often to look at their work. It was strange seeing the different styles and takes on the same subject, seeing himself through other people’s eyes, and pleasantly surprising to find that the drawings weren’t too humiliating. In fact, most of them were rather sympathetic.

He reached Josh’s empty seat and looked down at the board spread across it. The top sheet of paper was blank, held in place by a battered cigar tin filled with sticks of charcoal. Dark lines peeked out from its edges, mostly obscured. He thought he could make out the shape of an arm, but it was difficult to tell.

“Hey, man.”

Chris looked up to find Josh beside him. “Hey.”

“How d’you find it?”

“Eh, it wasn’t so bad,” Chris admitted, surprised to find he meant it. Sure, his back ached, and he was glad for the respite the robe provided, but it hadn’t been as mortifying as he’d expected.

“Can I see?” he asked, gesturing to the board.

“Uh…”

A hint of uncertainty passed over Josh’s face. He paused, palm pressed against the paper covering his work, but the moment passed as quickly as it came, and he moved his hand, his smile back in place. “Yeah, sure.”

Chris’ attention returned to the board, inquisitive fingers leafing through the textured sheets of paper, carefully turning them one by one, exposing a collection of figures; some little more than a swift suggestion of limbs, others more detailed and dwelt upon. His hand stilled when he neared the top of the stack, halting on one of the longer poses. He pondered it at length while Josh stood quietly beside him.

“Man…”

“That bad, huh?”

Chris' lips curled into the makings of a smirk. “Nobody’s ever drawn my ass before, so that’s something new, I guess?” He looked up when Josh chuckled. “They’re good, dude. Really good.”

It was the truth, not just cheap flattery. Chris wasn’t an expert, but he recognised the skill involved. He hadn’t seen Josh’s artwork in a long time, not since high school notebook doodles and band flyers from a lifetime ago. The improvement was remarkable.

“Yeah, well. They’re just gesture drawings. It’s all practice,” Josh said, dismissing the comment with a lazy wave of his hand.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Take the compliment, dude.”

“Alright, okay.” Josh held up his hands. “Sorry. Thanks, man.” He placed the tin on the empty stool then bent down to pick up a folder resting beside his seat. "So, you wanna get a drink or something when you’re done here?”

Chris hesitated. It had to be past nine already if the class had finished on time. The trip across town would take a while, and he still had to pick up something to eat and prep for work the next day.

“Sorry, not tonight, man. It’s getting kinda--”

“Right. Nine to five. Got it,” said Josh without missing a beat, but he didn’t sound annoyed or surprised.

“We can catch up soon though? I can even wear pants next time,” Chris offered.

Josh snickered. “Sure. You’ve got my number.”

Josh began packing up the sketches, gathering them up and slipping them into the folder a couple at a time. When the stack had nearly reached its end, Chris held out his hand.

“Wait…”

Josh looked at him curiously.

“...Okay, might sound weird, but can I keep one of these?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Josh peered inside the folder and rifled through the pages with smudged fingers, finally pulling loose a scrap of paper. He held it up and scrutinised it.

“One sec…”

Josh took a thin stick of charcoal from the tin and turned away, amending the sketch with a few deft strokes before handing it to the blond. “There you go.”

The sketch was little more than roughly hewn lines and unpolished shapes; a suggestion of a standing figure with their hands on their hips, devoid of facial features. A few dark strokes formed the figure’s arms and legs, limbs broken up by circular joints, but they weren’t what caught Chris’ eye.

Chris stared at the scrap of paper then glanced up at Josh, unimpressed. “Really, dude?”

A crude shape stood out prominently between the figure’s legs, out of proportion and exaggeratedly large. A messy signature filled the space beside the sketch, and beneath it in an untidy scrawl the words ‘J Washington age 27 ½.’

“Thought you could use it as an icebreaker. Pick up girls, you know?” Josh said, looking a touch too pleased with himself. He placed the charcoal back in the box, closing it. “Never know, might be worth something someday.”

“An original Washington, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Belongings packed away, Josh picked up his folder and threw his bag over his shoulder, smirk softening a touch.

“Well,” he said finally. “See you around, bro.”

"Later."

Chris watched Josh walk away. He glanced down at the sketch then looked up, calling out to Josh in a singsong voice. “You're an asshole.”

“Love you too, bud,” Josh called over his shoulder in that same breezy tone, not missing a stride.

 

* * *

 

Plans were a funny thing. Back in high school they just sort of happened, effortlessly coming together and slotting into place at the last minute. Now Chris was older, plans were awkward. Difficult. Necessary. Calendars had to be checked and weekends put aside for the smallest of occasions, weeks in advance. When a suitable slot couldn’t be found, potential plans were left vague and unmade, a nice idea that both parties knew probably wouldn’t happen.

The unlikelihood of sticking to plans counted double when it came to Josh. In recent years, it was only the necessity of a birthday or some other milestone that brought the pair of them together. Josh was flaky at best - a fact the brunette would willingly admit to - but then, Chris was no better. And so, it was with great surprise that for the first time in a long while, the vague assurance that they’d meet up actually came to fruition.

The venue had been Chris’ suggestion, a bar close to work he knew well enough. It was busy, or rather it had been, standing room only until the post-work crowd began to thin out, moving on to other haunts. After hovering elbow to elbow by the bar for a while, they finally managed to get a table, much to the irritation of another group who’d been waiting for an opening, but as Josh so maturely pointed out ‘you snooze, you lose.’

Settled in for the long haul - a drink in hand and three drinks down - Chris was finally feeling the weight of the day easing from his shoulders. In hindsight, he could have picked somewhere quieter, cheaper too, but the tab they were running up wasn't what concerned him now.

“They didn’t.”

“They did,” Josh said simply.

Chris shifted in his chair, eyeing Josh sceptically. “They did not, dude. You would have told me that.”

“I'm telling you, man. All they did was spray-paint the face, mess with the hair, and reshape the eye holes.”

Chris looked Josh up and down. Josh was usually irritatingly right about these things - it was his domain after all - but the fact he hadn't aired this particular nugget of trivia before was suspicious. It wasn't exactly a new movie.

Josh leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, a raised eyebrow accompanying his look of quiet confidence. There was a challenge in his eye, the gesture daring Chris to question it. When Chris’ scepticism refused to let up, he threw down the gauntlet, uttering the two words proven time and again to settle their disputes.

“Google it.”

“Alright…”

Chris picked up his phone and began to type.

          is michael myers mask

He watched the predictions spring to life below the search bar.

          is michael myers mask **william shatner’s face**

          is michael myers mask **captain kirk**

           **what** is michael myers mask

           **why** is michael myers mask **white**

Chris selected the first suggestion then clicked the top result. After a moment spent skim-reading the article, he paused.

_Shit._

He felt Josh watching him from across the table and reluctantly lifted his gaze.

Josh put his elbow on the table and cupped his chin with the palm of his hand. “Well?” he asked in an unbearably smug drawl.

“How did I not know that?” Chris asked, lowering his phone. “So, he’s like, what? A Kirk cosplayer? Michael Myers is a Trekkie? Kinda makes his whole deal a lot less scary, you know?”

Josh picked at his coaster and mulled it over. “I don’t know, bro. Shatner chasing you? Sounds pretty fucking scary to me.”

Chris took a drink, snickering as he swallowed. When he met Josh’s eye, he chuckled again.

“What?” Josh asked.

“Nothing, just… Kinda changes the way I look at  _that_ now,” Chris said, gesturing to Josh’s right arm. “All I’m gonna see is Kirk looking back me.”

Josh followed Chris’ gaze. Finally, it clicked.

“Ah.”

It was mostly covered, barely peeking out from the cuff of Josh’s shirt, but Chris had seen the inked skin beneath before -  a full black and white sleeve of horror movie icons spanning the length of Josh's arm. All the greats were there in a sprawling homage, 80s nostalgia blending seamlessly into the pre-code days of silent film; Englund, Karloff, Price and Lugosi’s most celebrated roles etched on Josh's skin from shoulder to wrist. Though gruesome in places and downright unsavoury in others, Chris had to admit it was, somehow, surprisingly tasteful. Well, as tasteful as a collage of fictional serial killers and movie monsters could be.

Josh rolled back his sleeve, shirt bunching at his elbow, and turned his forearm to ponder the masked face peering up at him. “Well, not much I can do about it now.”

Chris placed his phone on the table and smiled to himself, watching Josh contemplate his tattoo a moment longer in comfortable silence. It always surprised him how quickly they could pick up where they left off. Months could pass, and often did, but it still felt easy.

It was nice talking about nothing again.

“It’s weird,” Josh mused, rolling down his sleeve as he looked around the bar. “Everyone's living for the weekend, and I don’t even know what day it is most of the time.”

Chris huffed, glancing down at himself. Though toned down compared to the suits drinking around them, the tell-tale signs were there, the loosened collar of his dress shirt poking out from his sweater and the messenger bag by his feet placing him firmly among the ranks of the gainfully employed.

“My heart bleeds,” he said and shot Josh a scowl. With an eye roll, his expression softened. “How’s your stuff going, anyway?”

Josh puffed out his cheeks, exhaling at length. “Yeah… s’fine, I guess? I just finished a commission, so I’m back on my own stuff now.”

“You do those?”

“Sure, if I get any bites.”

“You got any pics or?”

“Yeah. Hold on.” Josh retrieved his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, then held it out. “Third one down.”

Chris took the phone and turned it on his side, flipping and enlarging the image. The background symmetry reminded him of wallpaper, but it was more impressive than that. A band of gold glinted along one side from top to bottom, sharp, simple and precise. Tessellating fan-like shapes that reminded him of palm fronds filled the rest of the canvas in a riot of rich, vibrant colour; corals, reds, jade green and off-white hemmed in by smooth, black lines.

“It was for a furniture place downtown,” Josh said, filling the lull. “They sell stuff from the twenties and thirties. Real Gatsby-style shit.” He gave the blond a weak lopsided smile. “I know a guy who works there, so.”

Chris zoomed out with a pinch of his fingers. “I can’t believe you did this, dude.”

“Thanks, but… I don’t know." Josh shrugged half-heartedly. "It wasn’t my usual thing, but it was kinda nice doing something different. A challenge, I guess? I try to do stuff I’m interested in or what’s the point, right? Might as well get my suit fitted and head to the office. Just fucking bury me already.”

Chris glanced up from the screen. “Is this your site?”

“Uh-huh,” Josh said. He watched Chris pore over the phone, smirk fading to curiosity as something troubled Chris’ brow. “What’s up?”

“It’s…”

Chris frowned at the screen while he tried to think of a nice way of putting it. Artwork aside, the site left a lot to be desired, its clunky navigation, outdated fonts and unresponsive design rendering it underwhelming at best.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda dated. Have you thought about doing it up? Art’s visual, right? First impressions count for a lot?”

Perhaps someone else might have taken offence, but Josh seemed unfazed. He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah? How much would that set me back?”

Chris took a moment to consider it. “Basic WordPress site, gallery, contact form… couple of hundred for something decent from a junior designer, probably more if you want to optimise it for mobile or do something fancy with it? I could take a look when I've got some time if you want? Wouldn't take long.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” Chris said. He scrolled through the gallery a final time. “You don’t put your sketches on here?”

“Stuff from classes?” Josh shook his head. “Nah. Well, sometimes if they’re good?”

“I don’t make the cut?” Chris asked, handing Josh the phone.

“Sorry, man. You’re not internet famous yet." Josh gave an apologetic shrug and reached for his beer, swallowing down another mouthful. "Gotta say, that was pretty random,” he said, smiling thoughtfully.

“Yeah... I was not expecting to see you there.”

“Clearly,” Josh smirked.

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“Just Han. So yeah, I imagine a few people know by now,” Josh said and watched Chris’ face drop. “What? She asked what I’d been up to and your name came up.”

“Great. Thanks."

“You’re _so_ welcome.”

Chris reached out, sating his post-work hunger with a handful of pretzels from the bowl between them. When he looked up, Josh's smile had turned pensive.

“What’s up?”

Josh looked poised to speak, but whatever he was going to say remained unsaid.

“Nah, it’s…” he trailed off, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottom of the bottle, and soon the frown he wore had gone, fading to a soft smile. “Nothing, man. Forget it.”

Chris pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shifted forward in his chair. “Come on, dude. What?”

Josh looked like he was weighing something up. He put the bottle down and settled more firmly in his seat. “Well… I kinda wanted to run something by you.”

“Shoot,” Chris said, scooping another handful from the bowl.

“Okay, so, hear me out.”

The moment Josh said it, Chris couldn’t help but smile, instantly reminded of the many other dubious ideas Josh had pitched over the years with the same opener. He sat there patiently and waited for Josh to continue.

“So, I’ve always kinda struggled with figure drawing.”

“Really? What I saw was good, man.”

“Thanks, but there’s always room for improvement, right?” Josh’s smile broadened. “Anatomy is _hard_ , bro. There are, like, six hundred muscles in the human body.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know, man. Something like that?” Josh shrugged. “So yeah, I’ve been going to those classes. It’s a few blocks from my place. Convenient, you know? But there’s not much variety. So, a while back I arranged some private sessions. Problem is, the girl I hired isn’t available anymore and--”

“You’ve hired people before?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, one or two.”

“Huh… Like, a one-on-one thing or?”

“A one-on-one thing, yeah,” Josh said, smiling softly. He paused, tracing the neck of his bottle with his thumb. “Anyway, I was thinking… would you ever do it again?”

It took a moment for the penny to drop, Chris' jaw stopping mid-chew. His face shifted through a cycle of emotions as he slowly understood what Josh was proposing. He looked at Josh curiously at first before his expression changed to one of quiet disbelief, eyebrows creeping upward. He peered over his glasses at Josh, a slow smile playing on his lips.

“You wanna draw me like one of your French girls?”

Josh sighed. “You seriously think you’re the first person who’s ever said that to me?”

“But that's what you're asking?” Chris pressed.

Josh put down the bottle and straightened in his seat. “Look, I don’t go to that class every week, but in all the time I’ve gone, there have been... maybe three male models? So seeing you there got me thinking. Well… would you?”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Josh said. “Unless it's too weird, in which case I'm _definitely_ joking.”

Chris ran a hand over his mouth. The idea to repeat his little feel-good experiment wasn’t high on his list of things to do. Hell, it hadn’t even occurred to him to do it again. Besides, Josh had to be fucking with him. He proceeded with caution, eyeing Josh warily.

“How long would you need me for?”

“A couple of hours, maybe? If it’s weird, I get it, but you’d be doing me a solid.”

“You don’t have a vase to draw?”

Josh flashed a bright smile that softened in a heartbeat. “Bro, I wouldn’t ask, but you were good. Some of the first-timers are so twitchy, but you knew how to hold it,” he said earnestly.

“Yeah, well, fear’ll do that to you.”

Chris gave a self-deprecating smile, trailing off when Josh chuckled in reply. They hadn’t talked about the class beyond the few expected wisecracks traded when they’d first met up. With the subject raised, he found himself pondering it again, filled with mixed feelings. That evening in the coffee shop had played with his expectations, he knew that much, but beyond that?

“It wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Chris admitted, glancing down at his hands. “I'm glad I did it, but...”

He watched Josh through narrowed eyes, absently picking at the label of his beer while he tried to figure him out. He couldn’t say for sure, but it felt like Josh was sincere.

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure, no rush,” Josh said, draining the last of his drink. He held the empty bottle up expectantly. “Your round, man.”


	2. High School Never Ends

 

* * *

 

Chris leaned back against the wall, scuffing the sole of his shoe against the polished concrete in a series of satisfying squeaks. Slouching, he looked along the length of the corridor then checked his watch. He was at the right place according to the raised wooden numerals sticking out from the wall beside him - apartment 304 - but Josh was taking his sweet time answering the door.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

He played with the strap of his bag then rechecked his watch, anticipation growing as the seconds passed. It still felt weird, no matter how much he rationalised it. This wasn’t like lending someone money or helping a friend move house. It was a favour that fell firmly into a category that he didn't know the social convention for, or if there even was one.

The sound of sliding metal and movement beyond the door roused Chris from his thoughts. A moment later, Josh unlocked it, opening it with an apologetic smile.

“Hey, man.”

Chris pushed off from the wall and let Josh pull him into a brief hug, looking the brunette up and down as Josh released him. “Hey. You just waking up or?”

If Chris had thought himself overdressed in the bar, he felt it tenfold this time. He looked smarter than he usually did in his downtime, his shirt and shoes a token nod towards workplace formality, but Josh was another story. Barefoot, sporting bed hair, and dressed in paint-flecked jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better days, Josh seemed unprepared for company.

“You’re funny,” Josh said, glancing down at himself. “Sorry, man. I was just getting my shit together. Come in.”

Josh led the way inside, and Chris followed, closing the door behind him. A few steps into the apartment, Chris stopped. From the outside, the building looked like all the other refurbished warehouses lining the surrounding streets, drab and unassuming. Inside was something else.

Chris wasn’t sure what he expected. Rooms, for one thing. Instead, he found himself in an informal entryway at one end of an open plan apartment; an extended living area with high ceilings broken up by furniture and sectioned off by function. Ahead of him a good ten paces away was a living room of sorts; the area lit by an oversized floor lamp. Two couches - one red, one green - stood perpendicular beside a coffee table atop an overly large rug spread across the dark concrete floor. Beyond it, a wide, backless shelving unit acted as a room divider, separating the living space from what looked like a bedroom, small glimpses of a headboard and pillows visible through the gaps in the books, plants and assorted objets d’art lining its shelves.

It was, for want of a better phrase, a ‘grown-up’ apartment; a term that both amused Chris and forced him, not for the first time, to reflect on his lot in life. With its mildly industrial vibe and tasteful decor, it was unexpectedly adult. He wasn't sure why that surprised him so much.

Chris ran his fingers absently over a mottled brown statuette on the console table beside him and looked up, taking in the artwork and other decorative touches as his gaze travelled up to the ceiling lights, eyes drawn to pipes and wood beams.

“Dude…”

Josh seemed not to hear and turned a corner into a kitchen area flanked by a tarnished steel breakfast bar and a pair of barstools, its grey tiles and cabinets distinct from the apartment’s mix of white paintwork and exposed brick accent walls.

“You want something to drink? I’ve got coffee, beer, wine--”

“Wine?” Chris asked distractedly.

“The girls were over.”

“Ah. Uh… water?”

Josh rummaged inside the fridge before joining the blond at the breakfast bar. Chris took the bottle offered to him with a vague nod and uncapped it, leaning back against the steel surface while he looked around.

“Dude, this place is-- how did you…?”

Before he finished asking, Chris already knew the answer. He turned to Josh, momentarily at a loss, then shook his head to himself.

“Man, sometimes I forget you’re a trust fund baby.”

“Yeah, well,” Josh said, quirking his eyebrows, the facial equivalent of a shrug.

“How long have you been here?”

“Eighteen months or so?" Josh blinked curiously. "You haven’t been here?”

Chris raised the bottle to his lips and shook his head.

“You didn’t come to my housewarming thing?”

“Couldn’t make it.”

“Huh… Well, let me show you around.” Josh cleared his throat, pondering where to start. “So, this is the kitchen. Well, I guess it’s _all_ kinda the kitchen technically, but...” He turned on the spot, gesturing to the different areas as he reeled them off one by one. “Living room, bedroom over there. That’s the bathroom,” he said, pointing at a door just visible at the far end of the room beyond the bookshelf barrier. “And up there--”

“There’s _more_?”

_Of course there’s more._

Chris followed Josh’s outstretched hand to a tightly wound staircase tucked away in the far corner beside the bathroom door, disappearing up into a windowless mezzanine jutting out into the room, overlooking the bedroom.

“Yeah, that’s my studio.”

“You have a studio. Right.”

Chris pushed away from the bar to inspect the room, briefly mooching around before stopping a few paces away to peruse the artwork on the wall.

“Whoa… You did this?” Chris asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Josh smiled and rounded the bar to join him. “Yeah. She was a dancer. I mean, she probably still is a dancer. I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

Josh didn’t often display his work, but he was proud of the piece, a mixture of collage and paint. It was a few years old, but he still liked it, and couldn’t deny the hint of satisfaction he felt that of all the works on display Chris had picked his.

“Bendy,” Chris said, tilting his head to one side. He glanced at Josh, lips forming a wry smile. “Not sure I can hold that kinda pose, dude.”

“Something to work up to?”

“Yeah, _maybe_.” Chris walked on a pace then stopped beside another piece. “Is this yours too?”

Josh followed Chris’ gaze and suppressed a small smile. “Oh, no, man. That’s just a print.”

It was a statement Josh felt the need to correct the moment he said it. Print or not, the piece was one of his favourites, a throwback to an old obsession with l'École de Paris; Kandinsky, Chagall, Mondrian. In this case, Modigliani. It was a portrait of the artist’s lover, Jeanne Hébuterne, one of many, but there was something about this particular painting that held his eye. There was a peacefulness about it, genuine contentment, every detail lovingly painted, from her long, almond-shaped face and softly falling auburn hair to her slender, feminine neck. Her features - especially her sly sideways gaze and that wordless hint of a smile - seemed to say so much without saying a word.

It wasn’t ‘just a print’.

“Really? I just thought, ‘cause of the eyes?” Chris said, gesturing to his own.

“Huh…” Josh murmured, a quiet, thoughtful sound as he glanced at the print, then his painting. Looking at it now, he wasn’t sure how he’d missed the influence. Maybe it took viewing it through fresh eyes to see it.

He went to comment, but Chris’ attention had already moved on.

“You haven’t thought about putting something up there? Like, a TV or a painting or something?” Chris asked, motioning to a blank patch on the wall beyond the couches, home to a grey painted rectangle, so light it barely showed.

“Actually…”

Josh walked past Chris to a shelf opposite the blank wall. With a click, he turned on the projector, filling the ample space with a faint box of light, then turned to Chris with a pleased little smile.

“... _What_?”

“S’good, right?” Josh said, smile growing to a grin.

Chris stared at the wall with quiet awe. He wandered to the couch and leaned his weight on the back of it. “Fuck, man. If I’d known you had this kind of setup, I would’ve come around sooner.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Still smiling, Josh turned off the projector with a sense of finality.

“So, I figure you can leave your stuff down here, or you can bring it up if you want or whatever, up to you. I left a robe in the bathroom if you wanna use that?”

Chris' smile remained, but the question pulled him back from temporary distractions, reminding him of the purpose of his visit. With Josh now waiting at the bottom of the staircase, the tour was over.

“Meet you up there?” Josh asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

Chris followed Josh’s journey up the staircase and watched him duck as he turned its tight, curved corners, stopping to throw Chris a final glance from the landing before disappearing into the room beyond. Alone again and wishing he had something stronger to drink, Chris took a breath then headed to the bathroom.

_Guess you’re doing this._

 

* * *

 

“Hey?”

Chris ventured a courtesy knock then pushed the door open the rest of the way, met with a jolt of sensory information as he took in his new surroundings. It felt like stepping into another world - part study, part junk shop - far removed from the clean lines of the apartment below, as if Josh had relegated his messy tendencies to these four walls. Up here, a strangely organised chaos reigned.

Josh had cleared some space, clutter pushed back to the corners of the room, but there seemed to be no order to it; canvases - blank and used alike - stacked alongside lifeless easels and unused furniture. There was room to walk across the tatty rug, but Chris suspected it wasn’t always the case, as if its current appearance was an anomaly or token gesture made purely for his visit.

The objects Josh hadn't cast aside in his half-assed attempt at tidiness seemed to be more permanent fixtures, like the deep ceramic sink in the corner and the large desk dominating one side of the room with a kneeling chair tucked beneath it. Boxes and baskets spilling over with paper, pens, bottles, pots and sponges sat atop it. Loose brushes obscured its surface while the bristles of others poked out from jars in messy, uneven bouquets, clustered together in a nod to some semblance of order. What little space remained was littered with dried up pens and near-empty tubes of paint, squeezed tight by determined fingers and hardened into tight rolls like used-up toothpaste, curling in on themselves in tight coils. Floating shelves protruded from the wall above the desk, near to overflowing, every inch crammed with dog-eared books and art supplies piled up in seemingly random heaps.

Chris paused mid-step and breathed in. It smelled different up here. The air felt heavier, weighed down by the sweet, clean pine scent permeating the room. It even sounded different, the creak of floorboards beneath his bare feet bold and conspicuous, barely muffled as wood gave way to coarse, paint-spattered material.

Josh was standing on one side of the rug beside a lone easel; its smooth wooden edges made irregular by bumps and smears of hardened paint. After dragging a stool over to it and adjusting the height of the tray, he glanced over at Chris, acknowledging him with a nod. Looking at the room around them, made cosy by the jumble, it was difficult for Chris to imagine anyone getting much of anything done up here, and yet strangely for all the mess and disorder, it seemed to Chris like this was where Josh was supposed to be.

Chris crossed the room, the concentration of paint flecks underfoot growing denser with each step. He held up the clothes bundled in his arms, unable to fit them into the bag hanging from his shoulder.

“What should-- where should I…?”

Josh surveyed the cluttered room. “Over there,” he said, pointing at a couch beneath one of the windows.

Chris shrugged the bag from his shoulder and set it down on the battered couch, placing his clothes, shoes and glasses beside it. He'd considered leaving his belongings downstairs as Josh suggested but had felt somewhat reassured by their presence and felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his gut as he relinquished them, like a child bereft of a security blanket.

He turned then paused, distracted by a gap in the white paintwork: a soft gradient of blues broken by smoky white clouds that spread across the walls and ceiling in one corner of the room.

“I assume this is you?”

Josh glanced up, hand stilling. He smiled, attention returning to the cluttered desk. “What can I say? I’m a slut for frescos.”

At that, Chris snickered, a little bemused. “S’that right?”

The rifling stopped. In a few footsteps, Josh was standing beside him.

“It’s not finished. Pretty sure I won’t finish it, but I wanted to try it out. It’s more of a mural than a fresco anyway. I mean, I didn’t use plaster, so it’s definitely not, but it’s… I guess it’s a kind of homage? It didn’t come out how I wanted it to, but what can you do?” Josh cocked his head and sighed wistfully. “Man, I saw so many in Italy.”

“When were you in Italy?”

“Last spring, I think?” Josh nodded to himself. “Yeah, April.”

Chris frowned. It didn’t feel like Josh had told him or, if he had, Chris couldn’t recall, and the gap in his knowledge placed a peculiar distance between them. They'd kept in touch after the abrupt severing of college, a gradual parting of ways he hadn't noticed at the time, but it was only now Chris sensed quite how much things had changed. Josh had a whole other life going on that differed from the mental image of Josh Chris held in his mind, a small part of him taking for granted that Josh was the same as he'd always been. It was a strangely disconcerting thought.

“Dude, your landlord must be…” Chris turned to Josh and narrowed his eyes. “You are renting, right?”

Josh nodded, smirking. “Yeah. Pretty sure I’m not getting my deposit back, but meh.”

Chris felt the urge to shake his head but refrained. It was a typical Josh reaction, so fucking blasé, but he let it slide. It reminded him of their teenage years, Josh happy to throw money at whatever fad they were going through at the time. Still, looking around the cluttered room, this particular ‘fad’ felt a little more permanent.

Josh left Chris peering up at the patch of faux sky and pulled a wooden chair loose from the mess of furniture. He placed it in the middle of the rug then went to his desk to pair his phone with a speaker hidden among the pots and brushes.

“So, um… How d’you wanna do this?”

“Just sit,” Josh said and motioned to the chair, placing his phone on the desk as the music began to play quietly.

“You don’t want me to…?”

“Not yet. Maybe let me get warmed up?”

Chris stared at the chair with mild apprehension then sat down and watched Josh set up a floor lamp a few feet away, squinting when Josh angled it in his direction. He smoothed down the front of his robe, torn between relief and disappointment; glad to be covered up, but eager to get the dreaded unveiling over with. Sitting there while Josh fussed over the lamp, it felt like they were dragging it out.

“You good?” Josh asked.

“Yep, fine.”

Satisfied with the setup, Josh went to the window and pulled the blinds closed. Chris watched him, following Josh’s path back to the easel.

“Can I talk?”

“Yeah, talking’s fine. Keep still and you’re good.”

Josh plucked a stick of charcoal from the slender box resting on the bottom shelf, peering from Chris to the page then back again. After a moment’s contemplation, he began to draw.

Chris watched, trying not to fidget. Occasionally Josh would glance in his direction, maybe fix him with a lingering look, but there was something distant about his gaze as if Josh wasn’t actually seeing him. It reminded Chris of how he’d felt in the coffee shop, an uncanny sensation of invisibility like he wasn’t entirely there. Regardless, he couldn’t get around how out of place he felt.

“You've really done your homework, huh?” he said after a while. “I know you said you were focusing on this full time, but I didn’t know you had this kind of setup.”

Josh seemed to come out of his thoughts, eyes focusing, seeing him again. He smiled softly, then resumed drawing. “Can you imagine how stoked my parents were when I told them my plans?”

“How are they?”

“Yeah, fine. Same old, same old.”

Josh fell quiet, distracted by his work. Eventually, Chris spoke again.

“What _is_ the plan with all this?”

Josh peered at Chris from beyond the easel. “Gee, I don’t know, _dad_ ,” he said with a sardonic smile. “Be unappreciated in my own time? Die young and penniless? You know, _the dream_.”

Chris chuckled then remembered himself and corrected his posture. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Josh said, expression softening. “Honestly? I guess there isn’t a plan. Just keep doing what I’m doing and see how it pans out.”

Josh was quiet for a moment, hand moving as he added to the sketch, loose, rough strokes against the paper.

“You didn’t tell me about what you’re doing,” he said and paused to ponder what he’d done, snatching a few upwards glances at the blond. “Still at RDP?”

“Yeah, I’m still there,” Chris said, surprised that Josh remembered. “Got my own team now.”

“ _You’re_ someone’s boss?”

“And that’s hard to believe why?”

“Because it’s _you_?”

“Jerk,” Chris muttered, loud enough for Josh to hear, and saw the brunette’s mouth turn crooked. “Yeah, it’s not like, a _big_ team, just two junior developers and a systems guy, but it’s something.”

“It’s definitely... something,” Josh echoed distractedly. “Turn your head.”

“Uh…”

“Away from me. Your left.”

“Like this?” Chris asked.

“Yup.”

Chris looked at the shelves above the desk, absently reading the spines of the few well-worn books he could see without his glasses until his gaze settled on an object that turned his expression quizzical.

“You smoke now?”

Josh followed Chris' gaze to a low-slung crate and the ashtray balanced upon it, a chunk of swirling green and brown onyx with a shallow bowl.

“Not really. I don’t _smoke_ smoke.”

Chris went to question the statement then paused. “ _Oh_.”

“After a stressful day at the office,” Josh clarified and resumed drawing. “I’m out right now, but I’ve got a guy if you need?”

Chris chuckled softly. Fuck, it had been a while, maybe not since college. Before that, not since the days of hotboxing his mom's hand-me-down Chevy Cavalier - a gift for getting his license - in the public library parking lot.

“I’m good,” Chris said, smirking to himself.

Josh glanced up, eyebrow raised. “You disapprove?” he asked. “You getting judgey on me?”

“No, dude. It’s just--”

“What about New Year?”

It took Chris a second to remember, smiling when he did. Perhaps he could be forgiven for forgetting; there was a lot he still couldn't recall about that night.

It must have been at least three years ago, back when Jess was sharing an apartment with those two Canadian guys. Back when he’d been with Sara, so probably more like four years, thinking about it. A few of the old crowd had been there, mixed in with a bevy of Jess and her roommates’ other friends. Beth and Sam came as a pair, and he vaguely remembered Matt and Hannah being there too. More surprisingly, Josh had shown up, a fact that seemed to surprise even his sisters; conspicuously - and rather recently, according to Sam - single, but in good spirits.

The beginning of the night was clear enough in Chris’ memory; catching up with some faces he hadn't seen in a while. But sometime after ten maybe, he found himself in conversation, leaning against the kitchen counter while the party went on around them, people peeling off one by one until only he and Josh remained. Finally alone, Josh reached into his pocket then, with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows, held out his hand, a joint held temptingly between his fingers.

Chris hadn’t taken much convincing, the pair sneaking out to huddle together on the fire escape, returning soon after to demolish an entire tray of sliders. After that, the night had gotten decidedly hazier. He remembered drinking some more, then sometime later - midnight, he guessed - peering over the heads of the small crowd gathered on the balcony to watch distant fireworks. And then…? Scene missing.

It was light when Chris got home, though he didn’t recall how he’d gotten there, and he didn’t remember undressing or getting into bed. He suspected Sara had something to do with it; she'd been good like that.

Chris hadn't thought much of it at the time - something Josh might still do at parties or whatever - but judging by the stubbed-out joints in the ashtray, his assumption was apparently wrong.

“Not judging, just didn’t realise.”

Josh smiled then returned to the sketch. He was quiet for a few minutes, working away while Chris stared across the room, the ashtray a distant anchor for his gaze.

“Look at me,” Josh said after a while.

Blinking, Chris obliged. “S’that better?”

“Perfect,” Josh said softly, and then he was gone again, fleeting smile fading to blank scrutiny once more, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

Chris held still, aware of Josh's gaze upon him, green eyes taking tiny snatched glances he could almost feel before moving on indifferently. Without verbal reassurance, he found self-doubt creeping in. Was he doing okay?

Before he could ask, Josh stopped drawing.

“Think I’m pretty warmed up,” he said, rolling his wrist a few times. “Do you mind…?”

Chris smiled uncertainly. “What, no dinner first?”

Josh chuckled, the stool creaking as he got to his feet.

Chris stayed seated then stood up awkwardly, any sense of getting used to Josh’s attention rapidly leaving him like sand through his fingers. Perhaps the whole thing wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe he could still back out; Josh wouldn’t take offence. But then, what really was the problem?

With a flick of his hand, Josh tugged the sketch he’d been working on loose before fussing over a new sheet of paper, discarding the last.

_He’s seen it all before, idiot. Drawn it, too._

Before Chris could voice his apprehension, the issue was rendered null and void. Josh was ready, or close enough, glancing at Chris before busying himself with the box of charcoal.

Steeling himself, Chris removed the robe, keenly aware of the studio light upon him and how pink the skin of his arms had gone. He took a step towards the couch then thought better of it, balling the robe up and holding it in front of him, covering himself from the waist down.

“Uh, how do you want me?”

Josh looked over at him, scratching his head while he considered the question. “You mind standing for a while?”

“No, that’s... That’s fine.”

Josh scrutinised the chair, took a step, pondered it again then walked the rest of the way toward it. Chris backed off as Josh picked it up, turning it ninety degrees to face the studio lamp.

“Cool, so, if you wanna stand here,” Josh said, placing his hands on the back of the chair. He bowed his head and adjusted his stance, arching his back a touch and planting his feet more solidly on the rug. “Something like this?”

“Sure,” Chris said, nodding.

Josh straightened, throwing him a smile before returning to the easel.

Chris' fingers tightened unconsciously on the robe as he walked numbly to the couch.

_Don’t think about it. Just do it._

He took a small breath and forced his hands open, letting the robe fall over his clothes. A few brisk paces brought him back to the chair, and he quickly assumed the pose Josh had demonstrated, his stare burning holes into the seat of the chair as though it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. He heard Josh settling on his stool and swallowed.

“Right leg forward some.”

_Fuck, he’s looking at me._

Chris followed the instruction, moving without thinking.

“Great. You need anything before we start, man?” Josh asked, picking up a stick of charcoal.

_I’m naked, and he’s looking at me right now and--_

Chris mutely shook his head. Fuck, he felt uncomfortable, the fact that he was naked known but unacknowledged. Though Josh was perfectly professional, observing him with a clinical detachment Chris should have expected, he couldn’t find a way to shake his unease. No strangers were peering at him this time, but that was somehow worse. Now that he _could_ talk, the self-consciousness he’d felt in the class was magnified. Bathed in lamplight, he'd never felt more exposed.

“So, you're the boss, huh? You get a bump for that?” Josh asked, roughly sketching the shape of the chair.

“Uh…”

Chris frowned at the chair and took a breath. It was weird being asked such a mundane question.

“Yeah, they um, they gave me a raise, so that’s…” Chris began, then smiled weakly, unable to keep up the act. “...I’m not gonna lie, dude, this feels really, _really_ weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird. Grow up, Christopher,” Josh replied in an affectedly lofty tone, eyes trained on the page.

Chris let out a breath of nervous laughter then bit it back. It felt a little better getting it out in the open, not quite fine, but better.

“Okay, well just remember it’s cold in here.”

“You want me to turn the heat up?”

“Nah, I'm kidding, man, I’m...” Chris took another breath. “...I'm good.”

Having found his voice, Chris pushed on, eager to focus on anything else. If he just kept talking maybe he could stop thinking about the fact that Josh was looking at--

“You, uh-- You said they don’t get many male models at that place?”

“Not really. Most people don’t mind it, but a lot of the pros don’t even bother going if they know a guy’s modelling. Pictures of men don’t sell well in the gallery. Art of naked ladies sells better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, who’da thought?” Josh said, voice filled with amusement. “Models come in all shapes and sizes, actors, students, the occasional disillusioned office worker or two, but it’s mainly young women. Grad students looking to make some money so...”

Josh sat back on his stool and frowned at the line of Chris’ spine on the page, pondering it before returning to the unfinished thought.

“...It’s been a while since I’ve drawn a guy. It’s good practice ‘cause there are differences besides the obvious. Different landmarks and proportions.”

“Landmarks?”

“Yeah, like the width and position of things. Hips, collarbone, little things like that.”

Josh licked his lips, firming up the curve of Chris’ shoulder, lost in thought until Chris spoke again.

“What happened to the girl you hired? Didn’t work out?”

“Bad geography. She was studying here, finished up, then moved back home.”

“Ah.” Chris went to nod then stopped himself. He flexed his toes against the carpet then smiled, voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “Isn’t it weird for you?”

“Is what weird?”

“This,” Chris said. “Drawing naked people?”

The question had been playing on Chris' mind for a while. He wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face or concentrate the way Josh and the other artists had. Even now, Josh seemed unruffled, carrying on like it was no big thing, a feat that Chris found difficult to imagine were their roles reversed.

Josh chuckled, amused by the question.

“Not really, man. I guess I’m kinda desensitised to it? I mean, it’s not like I wanted to sleep with her, you know? She wasn’t exactly my type.” He looked over at Chris with a haughty, knowing smile. “Hitting on models is tacky, bro, whatever way you look at it. You just--” He clicked his fingers. “Switch it off.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Right now, you’re just a bunch of lines and shapes.”

“Charming.”

Chris sensed Josh working, heard him shift on the stool. He leaned his weight more heavily on the chair.

“Have you ever done this?”

“What, modelled?” Josh asked.

Chris nodded.

“Not really. I've never sat for anybody, anyway. I’ve done some self-portrait stuff, but nothing big. Hands, muscles. I guess I don’t find myself that interesting,” Josh said, shrugging.

Josh fell quiet, working out the position of Chris’ legs for a minute or two. Content, he moved upward, calculating the angle of Chris’ pelvis, then paused, snickering despite himself.

“What?” Chris asked, suddenly on guard.

“Nothing.”

“Seriously, I'm feeling kinda vulnerable right now,” Chris said, only half-joking. He peered sidelong at the brunette. “I admit, having a _guy_ laugh at my junk is a new one, but...”

Josh composed himself, smirk softening to a slight smile. He tapped his hip with his fingers. “Sorry, it’s just I keep forgetting about it."

Chris huffed and hung his head when he realised what Josh was referring to. The small black and white nautical star on his hip was a decision he’d never fully admitted to regretting. Growing up, it had been a seemingly endless source of amusement for Josh, who revelled in pulling up Chris’ shirt to show it off to everyone every chance he could to Chris’ utter mortification.

“You’re still giving me shit for it?”

“Always,” Josh said with a puckish smile. He returned to his work, but a few strokes later he was smiling again, broadly this time. “Man, I remember when you got it. I thought you were gonna fucking cry, you went _so white_.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Chris said, brushing it off. “Get it out of your system, man.”

“Hey, at least you got yours done by a professional."

A flicker of recognition passed over Chris’ face, and his eyes lit up with a slow curiosity. “You’ve still got that?”

“It’s ink, bro. It’s not exactly going anywhere.”

Josh patted his thigh for emphasis, and though he hadn’t seen it for a long time, Chris remembered what lay beneath. After all, he was the one who’d put it there.

It had been Josh’s idea; an impulsive decision he couldn’t shake. Josh had wanted a tattoo, and badly. But there was a snag. Without parental consent - a thing his parents had expressly and repeatedly denied him - what was he supposed to do?

The answer was simple: go to someone who didn’t require parental consent.

Josh needed an accomplice and, as was often the case with Josh's schemes slash mistakes, he'd recruited Chris. It hadn’t mattered that Chris lacked any discernible artistic talent, or that Chris had no experience with stick and poke because Chris would do it, a fact they both knew the moment Josh asked.

Chris broke into a grin, the memory of a long, balmy afternoon spent in his bedroom back home returning to him; Josh sitting there with his pant leg rolled up while Chris diligently worked away at his thigh. It had taken hours, but it hadn’t seemed like a chore. Listening to music with a box worth of balled up bloody tissues littering the floor around them, Chris remembered it fondly. Sure, Josh had bitched throughout, but no more than usual, and he certainly hadn’t bitched about the result, at least not at the time, beaming as he inspected Chris' handiwork. Its design - a human skull with a gaping mouth and crooked antlers - lacked the craftsmanship of the sleeve now adorning Josh’s arm, but Josh hadn’t cared. All that mattered was he had his tattoo.

Josh lowered his arm, lips forming a crooked little smile. “Fuck, man. It nearly went septic. It hurt to wear pants for like, a month. My mom _lost her shit_ , remember?”

“Yeah...”

Chris remembered that part, too; listening from the top of the stairs while his mom took a phone call from an apoplectic Melinda Washington, the subsequent talking down from his parents, the shouting match that followed, and being grounded for what seemed like a really unfair amount of time. In hindsight, it didn’t seem like long enough.

“You know she actually thought you were a bad influence for a while after that. I had to convince her you’re just a dumb white boy who doesn’t know any better,” Josh said, lips curling into a smirk. “She didn’t need much convincing.”

“Hey, man, I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“I'm not complaining now,” Josh said holding up his hands, returning to his work with a soft chuckle.

“Ever thought about getting it lasered or something?”

“Nah, man, it’s all good.” Josh looked up from the page, his smile softer than before. "I actually touched it up a few years back. It’s pretty faded now, but it’s a nice reminder. I like the DIY aesthetic, you know?"

Chris smiled then bowed his head again. He was quiet for a long moment, leafing through old memories while Josh worked.

“You ever get any more? Other than--” Chris gestured to Josh’s arm with a small jut of his chin.

“I didn’t show you?”

Chris shook his head, and Josh’s expression changed.

Josh placed the stick of charcoal back in the box then got to his feet. He stepped out from behind the easel, pulling his shirt up to his neck with one hand to expose his left side, turning slightly.

“Holy _shit_. That’s a tattoo?”

Chris squinted at the red and black ink covering Josh’s flank; an abstract collection of seemingly random geometric shapes and images bound together by a spattering of ink drops and convincing, messy brushstrokes. It extended up under Josh's bunched up shirt and down just as far, creeping over Josh's abdomen and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Uh-huh,” Josh said, turning to show off the ink spreading across his back. "Went to Würzburg ‘specially for it,” he added peering down at the hard plane of his stomach.

Chris didn't get the reference but nodded regardless, eyes trailing along the horizontal band running across Josh's lower ribcage, following its path as it slowly changed from red to black.

“Arty,” he offered. “Is that you done now, or you want more?”

“Ah, man. For _sure_.” Josh released his shirt, letting it fall back in place. “I’d love to get a big Giger piece, maybe, but I’d never hear the fucking end of it. My mom hates these enough already,” he said, a fact which seemed to please him immensely.

“How long did your arm take?”

“Total?” Josh paused to think, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth while he did the math. “Nearly forty hours over a year or so, give or take?"

Chris whistled. Though he had an abundance of room to spare, he wasn’t sure he could stomach being in the chair for that long, his one-time dalliance with the needle more than enough.

“Pretty pleased with how it came out,” Josh added. He glanced down at his arm fondly then took his seat. "I know some good artists if you're interested."

“I’m sure you do.”

Josh met Chris’ wry smile with one of his own then picked up the charcoal. “Head down, dude.”

“Shit, sorry.”

Chris bowed his head, frowning softly when his gaze fell on his hands, his grip on the chair not quite as tight as before. The pink flush of his skin had faded somewhat, the white of his knuckles now absent. Somehow, he'd started to relax.

_This is fine._

Chris took a long, deep breath then shored up his position, arching his back a little more. “Better?”

“Better,” Josh said, nodding.


	3. Cheer Up

The shop was one of three Josh liked. It was small but not too busy, a few roads over from the foot traffic of Main. The coffee was fine, the staff knew him and tended to leave him alone, all factors that made it a pretty solid destination. Slouched over a small table at the back, the world around him kept at bay by headphones and a barrier of scattered art supplies, it should have been easy to lose himself a little.

Josh scowled, pencil gripped loosely between graphite-smudged fingers. He glanced down at the stack of photocopies on the table, all bearing the same rough suggestion of a head. It was an easy enough exercise, simple and noncommittal. All he had to do was draw a face and flesh it out, that was it, just work until that feeling clicked and it started to make sense. And if it didn’t? Well, then he’d do it again or move on to something else. He was just flexing his artistic muscles anyway, keeping them toned. It was like training; low maintenance stuff, not too demanding. Above all, it was supposed to be relaxing.

Then why did every little imperfection set his teeth on edge?

_Stop obsessing over it._

He rapped his fingertips on the table and stared down at the page, expression blank. All he needed was to switch off or maybe switch on, _something_ , but that was easier said than done. Nothing was coming out how he wanted. No matter what he did, it didn’t feel right.

He sighed at length, turned the page around, adjusted it, then sighed again.

It had happened before, hell it happened all the time. Getting stuck in a rut was normal. Nobody could be at their best all the time; he knew that. But it didn’t stop it from being an irritation, or worse, depressing.

_This makes you happy. You like doing this._

But what if the thing that made you happy frustrated the hell out of you? What _then_?

Josh stared absently at the drawing, scribbled the word ‘fuck’ across it a few times, then cast it aside. After squaring up the unmarked pages, he took a fresh photocopy from the stack and started again, struggling on for a few minutes until he sensed a presence beside him.

There was a time when he’d felt shy about drawing in public and hated people peering over his shoulder at unfinished work, a time when the only place he felt comfortable was at home or in a class, but he’d gotten over those initial reservations. He’d quickly learned that honestly nobody cared, too wrapped up in their own lives to pay him any mind. Gone were the days of projecting insecurity while he sat hunched over clandestine sketches. Now he was one of them - the Unfazed - joining the ranks of the other freelancers nursing the same nearly empty caffeine-spiked beverages for hours on end.

_God, I’m such a fucking cliché._

He glanced up to find a waitress watching him patiently. She had a fresh coffee that he didn’t want, but he’d ordered it anyway, well-versed in the etiquette involved in keeping a table. It was good manners if you planned to waste your whole day somewhere. Coffee for time, that was the deal, unless you wanted to be a prick about it.

Josh tugged an earbud free and lowered his pencil.

“Large coffee, plain black?” she asked.

“That’s me.”

“Adventurous.”

She glanced curiously at the sketches, and it looked like she might want to ask him about them, but Josh let the moment pass. Sometimes he relished the chance to talk about his work, even if the person on the receiving end of his monologue was only listening out of politeness, but he wasn’t in the mood.

_Isn’t that why you came here?_

Perhaps that was partly why he’d gone out, hoping human interaction might help, but now that it was being offered to him he didn’t want it.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing a little space on the table and returning the earbud to his ear.

The waitress placed the mug on the table, waited for a moment, then left, and Josh couldn’t help feeling a little bad as she walked away. He made a mental note to tip well as he leaned forward on his elbow, chin resting on his hand, and absently chewed his thumbnail, mind already wandering.

So why  _had_ he gone there if he didn’t want to talk? He’d supposed a change of scenery couldn't hurt, and an endless supply of coffee was a plus when he actually wanted one. Working against the idle chatter of the people around him - the sound reduced to white noise by music - was strangely helpful at times. And then there was always that naive hope, the one he still found himself clinging to, that something as simple as new surroundings would spark new ideas, triggering inspiration.

Josh picked up another pencil and set to work again, scoffing at the idea. Inspiration. Yeah, sure. He knew it didn’t work like that. It was stupid to think sitting there would help, expecting that ever-elusive inspiration to land in his lap with a big fucking bow on top. Sure, he could wait for that epiphany, that lightning bolt moment when everything slotted together, but today the sky of his mind was dull and grey, unbroken by clouds or sunshine. If inspiration was coming, it was sure as hell taking its time.

The coffee shop hadn’t always been his intention. He’d considered visiting a gallery, sometimes it helped distract him from himself or encouraged him to push himself. But he knew the other way it could go. If he wasn’t in the right mood, a trip like that bred a feeling of hopelessness and unfounded jealousy that felt unhealthy. And so, he’d abandoned that idea, knowing himself well enough to predict the outcome, but had still ventured outside because it wasn’t a case of where he was going but what he was leaving behind. He hadn't wanted to leave; there was more to it than that. He'd  _had_ to.

Most days the studio was a refuge, instilling him with a sense of purpose, but sometimes it felt so demanding and impenetrable, tangling up his thoughts and filling him with a sinking dread. On days like this the room was a vault, a daunting presence looming over him as he lay in bed and talked himself into getting dressed, a parasite sucking the life--

_Stop it._

Josh brushed the melodramatic thoughts aside, feeling guilty for the complaint. He was lucky to have a space to work in, he knew that, but if it felt that way it felt that way, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He sat up, peered down at the sketch he’d been working on, and added to the loose suggestion of features, shoring them up with firmer lines. Frowning, he put down the pencil and held a tortillon between his fingers, smudging the hint of a cheekbone and regretting it immediately.

 _“You need to stop being so hard on yourself,”_ Hannah had told him. _“You’re allowed to have off days.”_

It was something he kept telling himself, but sometimes even the best advice went unheeded, and while the rational part of his brain listened to her, patiently nodding in the background, the other part merely shook its head, balled up its fists and glared.

_“Can’t you just power through it?”_

He’d smiled at her, at a loss, and shrugged, worn down by contradictory advice. It was easy for her to say; she knew what her work involved. People handed her assignments and cases, and she did them, it wasn’t the same at all. What she did was simpler than this.

Josh chided himself for the unfair comparison, hand stilling. Hannah knew what she was talking about; she wasn’t stupid. But, despite her best intentions, he was no closer to an answer. Power through it, take a break, he still didn’t know what worked for him.

Josh took a breath and closed his eyes.

_What kind of story do you want to tell?_

It was as good a starting point as any, a question pointing him in the right direction. If he knew what he wanted to say, then maybe he could figure out how he wanted to say it.

_How about the story of a man who doesn’t need another coffee? A man who spent his morning obsessing over hypotheticals?_

In the wake of self-ridicule, the worry began to set in, and the floodgates opened, more dreaded questions spilling out. What if he didn’t have a story to tell? And if he did, what if nobody gave a fuck about what he had to say? What if every idea he had and ever would have was shit? What if he didn’t have any talent? One by one, the questions came quick on the heels of the last, what if, what if, what if, until all he wanted to do was sink into bed or to the bottom of a bottle.

The face stared up at him from the page when he opened his eyes, half-formed features taunting him.

_You can do this. It’s fucking easy._

He picked up a pencil and pressed on, irritably working at the reflection in a pale grey iris, but every stroke felt like a struggle, everything he tried an abject failure. Everything about it looked wrong, _felt_ wrong.

With a defeated exhale, Josh put the page to one side and smiled to himself, bitterly amused. Maybe he was pushing too much.

_“You’re allowed to take a break.”_

It was Hannah again. This time, he listened.

Josh retrieved his phone from the table. He’d seen it light up a few times but had banned himself from checking it in his quest for productivity. Relenting, he scrolled through the notifications, swiping some away, clicking through on others. He checked his emails, mainly garbage, opening them one by one until he came to a sender he didn’t immediately recognise. A second glance and it clicked.

          C.Hartley@RDP-Solutions.com

          Subject: Mo Monet Mo Problems

Josh sat back in his seat, opening it with a smirk.

_Hey man,_

_Not sure what you'll think but I had a play around with a basic theme and dressed it up a bit. I already had a gallery plugin, so I added the files from your current site. You seriously need to learn how to resize images, it was taking_ years _to load._

_I don’t know how up to date your bio is (unless you’re lying about your age now? If so, smart). Send me some new copy, and I’ll add it. The logo’s a temp - figure you’d want to design one or get a designer on it (not my strong suit)._

_The site’s sitting on a dev server_ _ here _ _right now if you want to check it out. If you like it send me your hosting details and I’ll push it live. If you don’t then… fuck it, I guess?_

_See you Thursday, right?_

_‘Have a Blessed Day’_

The email ended, casual text neatly severed by Chris’ formal work email signature.

Josh tapped the link, pleasantly surprised by what he saw. The site was simple enough, nothing too outlandish or over the top - understated and professional but not too formal. He hadn’t expected Chris to build it, though perhaps he should have. Chris had agreed to model again not once but several times, much to Josh's amazement. In those hours, Chris had talked about the site, picking Josh’s brain about what he liked, but Josh had thought it merely a distraction, a way for Chris to keep himself focused on something else.

Josh swiped through the gallery, pausing now and then. It didn’t surprise him that the site was good; he hadn’t doubted Chris' abilities. What did surprise him was how it made him feel. It wasn’t the most impressive body of work by any means, but it looked a lot better in its new home. There were pieces there he hated, particularly his older work, but overall it wasn’t quite as terrible as it had seemed in his head.

Josh lowered his phone, sipping lukewarm coffee as he thought back on Chris' last visit little under a week ago, and felt his frustration ebb a touch. It had been good, and not just for the company. He'd felt positive in the studio that evening, possibly the last time he had felt content there, well, maybe that was a little dramatic, but the last time he could pinpoint for certain. During that session and the handful before it, he'd felt motivated. Excited, even. With an audience of sorts, he'd pushed himself but, unlike today, hadn't met a brick wall. It had flowed, whatever 'it' was. Sure, most of what he’d produced wasn’t great, nothing to write home about, but it hadn’t seemed to matter so much. At least he’d been creating  _something_.

Josh smirked, entirely at his own his expense. Maybe he had built the studio up in his head, blaming it for a bad mood that roamed freely beyond its walls. There was no denying the apprehension he felt, but with the evidence laid out before him, the idea that he could be productive up there again didn't seem quite so farfetched anymore. After all, it was just a room.

_A room conveniently filled with art supplies._

Perhaps it was time to head back.

Josh was halfway to his feet when he paused, looking down at his latest failure with a contemplative frown. He picked up the sketch then took his seat, staring at it for a long moment. No, it wasn’t perfect. It wasn't even particularly good. With a little time, maybe it could be, but for now, it was _something_. Maybe that was enough.

_"You can't rush these things, right?"_

No, he supposed he couldn't.

Josh looked down at the sketch, puzzling over it before peering over the heads of nearby customers at the counter, smiling at the barista as he caught his eye.

 

* * *

 

“My arms are killing me, dude.”

Josh glanced up, roused by the complaint. Though he couldn't see Chris' face, he could guess at his expression.

Chris was standing across the room, facing almost entirely away with his right hand resting firmly on his hip. The fingers of his other hand curled around the back of his neck, his left arm bent acutely at the elbow, held beside his head.

It wasn’t the most demanding pose by any means, not much of a feat, but perhaps Chris’ gripe was valid. The evening was pleasantly balmy, but without the air-con servicing the rest of the apartment, the studio was a heat trap. It wasn’t usually an issue, Josh could leave the windows open and stay cool enough, but with the blinds drawn there was little relief. Add the heat of a studio lamp into the mix and Josh could sympathise, especially when despite Chris’ half-hearted bitching the blond obediently held his pose, his bare toes curling restlessly against the rug the only sign of his discomfort.

“Suck it up, man. It’s been…”

Josh checked his phone, brow rising in mild surprise. It was still light out, the blinds rimmed with daylight, but he’d spent longer on his current drawing than intended, the sketch far more fleshed out than the others he’d discarded. It  _was_ a good pose though. Chris’ forthright stance gave the blond a surprisingly commanding presence, the slight, subtle twist of his waist accentuating his legs. Farther up, the rigid shape of Chris' bent arm pulled the muscles of his back into interesting new shapes. The lighting was good, too. Positioned to Chris’ left, the lamp threw shadows across his skin, creating a map of darkened waterways along his back.

Josh followed the shape of Chris’ left shoulder blade across the page, chasing soft shadows with the hard edge of his finger. He smudged charcoal along it, tracing the flat triangle of bone until it joined the river snaking down from Chris' neck like an estuary, branching out here and there into smaller streams of shadow along his spine, tapering away just shy of his backside.

"J?”

Josh had fallen back into silent thought; his sentence left unfinished. At Chris’ prompting, he looked up from the page.

“Got two more minutes in you?”

Chris seemed to consider it then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

“Sure,” he said, adding, “My ass better look _amazing_.”

Josh smirked and began drawing again. Chris was patient for the most part and never really complained, it was all good-natured and spoken in jest, but it couldn’t hurt to keep him distracted, if only to buy himself a little more time. Revisiting a conversation worked most of the time, and if that failed, Josh could usually think of a subject to preoccupy him.

“So, you take them out for beers because…?”

Chris huffed, and Josh could almost hear him smiling.

“No, okay, you’re not getting it. You buy beers and have them _in the office_ , that’s the _point_ of it. You do it because A, it’s a reward for your team and B, so people in other teams see you’ve accomplished something. You’re encouraging your people and demonstrating your success to everyone else at the same time."

“And that works?”

“Uh-huh. It’s good management practice, dude.”

Josh added chalk highlights to Chris’ side and smiled to himself. “So, what? You’re like, the cool boss, huh?”

“Your words,” Chris replied airily.

Josh absently scratched his neck, marking himself with smears of grey that lined his skin like sooty claw marks. He added a few fresh strokes of charcoal and worked them into the paper.

“Let me just..."

He tilted his head, peering first at the page then at his blackened hands. Though loath to admit it, he was starting to overwork it.

“I’m running out of fingers,” Josh admitted. “Wanna take a break?”

No sooner had Josh asked, Chris lowered his arms, treating himself to an exaggerated roll of his shoulders. He walked to the couch and put on the borrowed robe, more of a formality than a necessity, the urge to cover up weaker than before. It still flared up at times, especially during the more awkward poses - worst of all the infrequent yet dreaded full frontal - but the defensive impulse to reach for the robe the moment Josh finished had dwindled somewhat. It was easier when he didn’t have to make eye contact, that always helped, but really it wasn’t  _too_ bad anymore.

Chris heard running water and turned to see Josh by the basin, cleaning himself up with a thick, discoloured block of soap. His gaze wandered to the stool, the drawing board balanced atop it, and the sheets of paper littering the floor like fallen leaves, scrapped pages strewn haphazardly across the rug.

Looking at the pages, Chris sometimes wondered what exactly Josh was getting from their sessions. Most sketches ended up underfoot, discarded the moment Josh was done with them. Now that Chris thought about it, he'd hardly seen evidence of Josh’s work besides those discarded pages, their journey from easel to floor quick and predictable, but Chris knew better than to pry. At the end of the day, as long as Josh was getting  _something_ from their time together, did it matter what he decided to keep?

He watched Josh reach for a coarse-looking towel, scrubbing his hands and forearms then tossing it aside. With Josh distracted, Chris walked over to the drawing board and peered down at it, regarding the sketch with quiet interest.

The floorboards creaked as Josh crossed the room to join him. His hands were cleaner; charcoal black faded to faint grey smudges. For a second, Chris half-expected Josh to add the sketch to the others he’d scrapped. Instead, Josh left it on the board.

“What d’you think?”

Chris wasn’t sure what to say. Josh never dismissed encouragement but rarely sought out his opinion, when it came to this at least. Looking at a piece of work he didn’t and probably never would have the skill to create, Chris didn’t feel qualified to comment. Still, he tried.

“So that’s what my head looks like from the back, huh?”

“Close enough.”

“It’s good.” Chris pondered the drawing thoughtfully. The comment felt redundant, so he added, “I like what you’ve done with my arm.”

Chris gestured to the arm in question - the one bent out from his waist like the handle of a mug - and smiled. Glancing sidelong at Josh, he didn’t miss the slight quirk of Josh’s lips, quietly pleased.

“Thanks. I mean, there are mistakes, there are _always_ mistakes. It’s just a case of working out which ones to keep. It’s a good pose, lots of negative space.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like the space between your legs, that space here, the space under your chin.”

Chris turned to Josh, raised eyebrows inviting explanation.

“So negative space is the space in and around objects. Like right here, your arm is a positive space, and the space around it is negative space. This,” Josh said, placing his hand on his hip, “all the space inside here.”

Chris nodded and let Josh talk, not noticing he’d copied Josh’s gesture until Josh reached out and touched his side, tracing the gap along Chris' inner arm in demonstration.

“Like this right here,” Josh continued, face animated. “You can tell everything’s in proportion because _this_ space is in proportion if that makes sense? And it gives you a focal point.” Josh’s hand stilled on Chris’ wrist, and he looked at the blond, seeking out understanding. “Makes it more appealing.”

In truth, Chris understood perfectly. He was a developer first and foremost, but he dabbled in design. He hadn’t said anything though, hadn’t wanted to interrupt, not only for Josh’s sake but partly for his own. He liked the way Josh’s face lit up when he explained things, how his eyes danced with contagious enthusiasm. It was nice, for want of a better word.

Chris glanced down at Josh’s hand, staring at it for a long moment, then met his eye.

“Like the FedEx logo?” he offered.

“Yeah…” Josh blinked a few times, as if discarding a thought, then retracted his hand. He smiled softly. “Yeah, like that.”

Josh picked up the drawing and fetched a can of fixative from his desk. He went to the window, raised the blind, then pulled the window further ajar.

“You got one more in you?”

The can hissed as Josh sprayed the paper with a light mist, and even at a distance, Chris could smell its faint aroma. Chris wasn’t sure what time it was, but the streetlights weren’t on yet. He supposed he could manage one more.

“Sure.”

The 'daybed' used for reclining poses wasn't the most sophisticated piece of furniture, but it was comfortable enough, its thin mattress and crate base propped up against the far wall. Chris cleared the floor in front of it, pulling boxes aside while Josh finished setting his work, the pair each taking a side and lowering it out from the wall when Josh rejoined him.

When it lay horizontal, Josh took over, dragging it into the middle of the room. After draping a sheet over the mattress and tossing a sad-looking pillow upon it, he straightened. “Make yourself comfortable, man.”

Chris waited for Josh to draw the blind then disrobed. Following Josh’s advice, he punched the pillow a few times then knelt on the bed, considering his position before arranging himself on the mattress. After a little deliberation, he settled on his back and rested his head on his hands, unconsciously puffing out his chest. He bent his knee, affording himself a little modesty, his other leg stretched out along the mattress.

It was warm basking beneath the lamp; warm enough to lull Chris’ eyes closed, wearier from work than he’d thought. He heard Josh setting up - the sound of rummaging hands and shifting clutter - but it did little to detract from the comfort of his new, relaxed pose.

“You okay, bro? You need anything?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. This thing isn’t so--”

A change in music cut Chris short, the still air broken by the intro of a song playing through the speaker. It was a break from the indie playlist Chris was used to hearing - surly guitar and loose high-hat soon joined by insistent drum beats - and he found himself frowning curiously. He felt like he knew it but couldn’t place it.

The drums ended abruptly, replaced by guitar riffs and pop-punk vocals Chris hadn’t heard for a long time.

_♫♪ She paints her nails, and she don’t know he’s got her best friend on the phone… ♩♫_

Chris turned his head toward Josh, who was standing by the easel with his supplies set up on the stool beside him. They shared a look of recognition that gave way to amusement on Chris’ part, and what looked like a mixture of mild surprise and, Chris suspected, a hint of embarrassment on Josh’s. Judging by his face, it was clear Josh hadn’t expected the track; perhaps a throwback that had somehow found its way to his everyday playlist, maybe shuffle gone awry. Either way, it was undermining Josh’s carefully cultivated persona.

“You still listen to this?” Chris asked. It was rare to see Josh on the back foot, and it pleased him greatly.

“Sometimes.” Josh smiled and bit his lip. He cocked his head, the gesture playful, maybe even a little bashful. A shrug followed. “You don’t?”

It was strange how something as simple as a song could be so intrinsically connected with a specific place in time. Suddenly, Chris was fifteen again, back in the days when his ringtone was a shitty rendition of Dammit, deep in the middle of that seemingly endless summer between ninth and tenth grade. Lying there, he found himself drawn into memories of days spent listening to Nimrod and Americana on repeat, of sitting side by side on the school bus connected by wired headphones like conjoined twins - one earbud each - listening to the same albums over and over until the CDs started to skip.

Chris lay back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “Dude, this makes me feel _old_.”

“We _are_ old.”

“Pfft, says you, man.”

“Ah, the power of denial,” Josh chuckled. There was an air of superiority in his voice when he spoke again, a smug knowingness as he imparted his wisdom, quoting, “The worst of all deceptions is self-deception. Plato.”

“Eesh. Bringing out the big guns now, huh?”

“Denying it doesn’t change the facts,” Josh said and nodded sagely. “Chin up, man.”

Chris obliged. He saw Josh from the corner of his eye, heard him pace a little before settling behind the easel. Josh was quiet for a while, and when the song ended, returning to the scheduled playlist - business as usual - Chris spoke, filling the break between tracks.

“Do you still play?”

He heard Josh snort.

“Ha, no. Did we ever actually play anything though, really?”

Chris supposed Josh was right. Infrequent band practices were mainly spent choosing band names and listening to music instead of playing any. Whenever they did take a break from dicking around to pick up their instruments, the sound they’d made was predictably bad.

“What about you?” Josh asked.

“Yeah, you figured out my secret. Developer by day, rock god by night, that’s me.”

Josh shook his head to himself, though Chris didn’t see it. “It was fun though, right? We were fuckin’ awful, but it was fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Josh was quiet for a moment, distracted. He added several blind lines to the paper then scrutinised them briefly. Frowning, he pulled the page loose and tossed it to the floor.

“No good?” Chris asked, recognising the sound.

Josh gave a vague grunt of affirmation then set up a fresh sheet of paper and began again. After sketching the roughest of outlines, he paused.

“Back when I was, you know, having my problems, it was good having an outlet like that. Music, I mean,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s like this, I guess,” he added, gesturing to the room around them.

Josh didn’t need to elaborate about his troubled teenage years, Chris already knew first-hand. They’d shared good times growing up together, lots of good times, but it hadn’t always been so easy for Josh. Puberty was a bitch for pretty much everyone without exception, but through no fault of his own, Josh had it tougher than most, the regular issues every kid dealt with topped off with his own unique brand of problems that went beyond acne or growing pains. Josh was decidedly more mellow now than he had been, those awkward middling years filled with self-destructive tendencies, trial and error prescriptions and endless bitching about therapy sessions and how dumb they were, but Chris remembered that time in his life all too well. It was weird knowing that something he’d taken for granted had been something different for Josh, had  _meant_ something different, and he’d been utterly oblivious.

Thinking back on those years, a realisation dawned on him, another piece of a puzzle Chris hadn’t known existed slotting into place. He’d witnessed the beginnings of Josh’s interest in art, though he hadn’t known it at the time. At school, Josh had shown a flair for it, not a patch on what he could do now, but good, Chris had recognised that much. Though Josh had been a bit more private about it back then, Chris had seen a few old sketchbooks and a flyer or two for the few gigs they had played - more like glorified house parties than actual shows - but not much more.

_And now here you are, buck naked, posing for the guy._

“It’s cheaper than therapy anyway. Well… kinda?” Josh continued, sheepishly acknowledging the stacks and boxes of art equipment crammed into the studio. He returned to the sketch, musing aloud. “It’s sort of therapeutic sometimes? You can think about nothing or something else completely. Or it can be an exercise in problem-solving. Let your mind figure shit out on its own.”

Josh looked up from the easel and found Chris listening expectantly, head tilted toward him.

“I don’t know. It’s nice. I like that it has no barriers. Communication beyond language, you know?”

“Deep,” Chris said, only half-joking.

“Hey, I’m a complex guy.”

A few minutes passed in easy silence. Lying down was better, despite the stray mattress spring digging into his lower back, and Chris soon found himself lost in scattered thoughts, mind wandering as he gradually zoned out. It was down one ambling train of thought that another subject occurred to him.

“I can’t believe you don’t work.”

“This _is_ work, man.”

“I mean _real_ work.”

Josh fixed Chris with a weak glare, distracted enough by the jibe to lower his charcoal. He placed his hand on his hip and narrowed his eyes, but his smile remained. “What, like you, Mr. fuckin’ Spreadsheet over there, sitting at your desk Googling yourself all day?”

“Touché.”

“Your head, man.”

“Sorry.”

They shared a smile then Chris turned away, looking up at the ceiling once more.

Josh returned to the easel, wry smile becoming a frown of concentration as he stared at the drawing. He ventured a few more strokes then stepped back a pace. Satisfied, his shoulders relaxed.

“I was working for a while. Well, interning again. But it was kinda frustrating because I’d just wanna get back to this and I didn’t have the time. So yeah, I gave it up, and now I have all the time.” He glanced over at Chris. “I guess _this_ is the day job. I mean, I’m here most days.”

“Alone?” Chris asked, genuinely curious. He didn't know how Josh filled his days, the time between their sessions a big unknown.

“Mostly. I’m not like a hermit or anything. I go out and see people and do stuff and whatever. But yeah, you’ve gotta like your own company. It’s not for everyone.”

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

Chris wasn’t sure why he’d asked; they hadn't talked much about relationships since high school crushes, not seriously. He'd met an ex or two, but Josh hadn’t mentioned anyone lately. Chris hadn’t seen any evidence of anyone else’s presence in the apartment. One toothbrush sat in the cup by the bathroom sink, and Chris recognised the boots and sneakers lined by the front door, all of them Josh's. If Josh was seeing someone, they didn’t seem to come around much.

“Nah, not for a while,” Josh said. “You met Michael, right?”

Chris searched his memory, frowning when he came up empty. “ _Mike_ Michael?”

“What?” Josh asked, puzzled until he made the connection. His eyes lit up. “Hah, _no_ , dude. Can you imagine? _Fuck_. No, different guy.”

“Oh… don’t think so?”

“Eh, doesn't matter. He moved east a few months back, I think. Headhunted.”

“Ah, that sucks.”

“Yeah, well, he was an asshole anyway,” Josh said absently, working the angle of Chris’ knee into the paper.

“What happened?”

“Ah, you know, the usual. We wanted different things.”

Chris raised an eyebrow.

“I wanted him to move in, he wanted to screw a guy from the gym, so.”

“Shit, dude. I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m not.”

Josh didn’t sound angry or sad about it; voice laced with dark amusement. He was being pretty blasé about the whole thing, more interested in the easel than the reality of what he was saying, but it didn't seem like a front.

“You seem like you’re taking it well?”

“Meh.” Josh looked over, treating Chris to one of his patented couldn’t-give-a-shit shrugs. “It’s just one of those things.”

Josh let the conversation hang while he amended the shape of Chris’ leg. After a moment, he remembered himself, brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a passing car.

“What about you?”

Chris nearly laughed aloud at the question. “Well, you and a room full of strangers are the only people who’ve seen me naked in the last few months, if that gives you an idea.”

He heard Josh snicker and joined him in it.

“I was seeing a girl, Rachel, a while back. Six months ago? But it kinda fizzled out.”

“You meet through work or something?”

“Online.”

Josh peered at Chris curiously from beyond the easel. “ _Oh_?”

“Hey, I’m a busy guy. Working doesn’t leave much time to go looking for Miss Right. Not all of us get to live off daddy’s money.”

Josh threw Chris a mock scowl, hand moving again. “What did she do?”

Chris hadn’t anticipated the question. He suspected Josh was just making conversation, that he didn’t really care, but it was a pleasant distraction. Chris hadn’t thought about her in a while, and things had ended amicably enough. It couldn’t hurt to talk about it.

“She was an _entrepreneur_ ,” he said, exaggerating every syllable. “Ran her own startup thing, yadda yadda. Something to do with _up_ cycling or _re_ cycling or… something.”

“Successfully?” Josh asked.

“Hah, what do _you_ think?”

Chris chuckled, and soon Josh was chuckling too. Chris sighed to himself, laughter fading to a contented smile.

“I don’t know, dude. She seemed interesting. I've always been a sucker for creative types though; I guess ‘cause my brain doesn't work that way, you know?” He peered up at the ceiling, gaze quiet and thoughtful. “But yeah, didn’t work out.”

“Next time, huh?” Josh peered around the easel, and the smile he wore was a little less at Chris’ expense this time. “Plenty more fish, bro,” he said, returning to the page. “Plenty more fish.”


	4. The Art Of Losing

Chris arched away from the unwelcome chill of icy cold water and held out his hand, testing it until the moment passed and it reached a bearable temperature. Errant tufts of bed hair wilted as he stepped beneath the shower head and closed his eyes, letting the water take him as it beat softly against his scalp and shoulders. Moments later, he was already starting to feel the benefit as it loosened tense muscles, stiff from a night of restless sleep.

It was early, especially for someone who was usually blissfully unaware of his surroundings at this hour, wrapped up in a warm cocoon of bedding. But Thursdays were an unwelcome exception; a weekly eight a.m. meeting interrupting an otherwise relaxed schedule of late morning starts. When Thursday came around, he’d pull on whatever vaguely appropriate clothes he could find and slouch his way through the meeting with a coffee or energy drink in hand, just about waking up in time to see his colleagues shutting their laptops and gathering up their notes. But today was different.

_Accessibility, inclusivity..._

Chris hung his head and pressed one hand to the wall, turning the faucet with the other, and felt the water beat harder against his neck. Eyes closed, he fumbled blindly with a shampoo bottle then let it drop to the floor, working his hair into a lather.

_...Ease of use and… what else?_

He frowned as he struggled to remember, sluggish mind reeling off buzzwords until he gave up. It would come back to him, he just had to check his presentation notes, but the gaps in his memory weren’t exactly reassuring.

Chris sighed, the sound lost in the patter of water. Yes, today was different, the usual box-ticking exercise of the weekly catch up put on hold in favour of a strategy meeting with middle management he could do without. Today was a big helping of corporate bullshit followed by a face-to-face with a potential new client. Today was… well, not great.

_You could’ve sent someone else._

It was true, he could have made an excuse and sent someone from his team in his place, but management had asked for him by name. Saying no was always technically an option, but then again not really, that much was implied.

Leaning farther into the stream of water, Chris rinsed the shampoo from his hair, mind drifting to a conversation he'd had with Josh days earlier.

_“So, what are you dealing with? You go in there, let the accounts guy pitch it then you hit ‘em with a demo? Something like that?”_

_“Pretty much.”_

_“And you know what you’re talking about?”_

_“Yeah. I mean, I wrote it, designed it, built it--”_

_“Then what’s the problem?”_

The question had left Chris a little stumped at the time, Josh blinking at him curiously from across the studio. The demo had been a problem to solve ever since marketing announced it, adding to the seemingly endless list of concerns lurking at the back of Chris' mind, but with the supposed problem laid out so plainly, he'd found himself lacking a decent answer.

_“Are you confident in it?”_

_“Well, yeah. It works and fits the brief.”_

_“Then show them that. Let your work do the talking for you. If you’re confident in what you’re saying they’re gonna be confident in you, right?”_

_“I guess?”_

_“Seriously man, don’t stress so much. Your frown’s fucking up my drawing.”_

Chris cut off the water before the warmth could lull him back to dozing. Josh made it sound easy, but maybe he knew what he was talking about after all. It would be fine; he was just there to answer the technical questions. Selling the idea was accounts' problem. There was a lot to remember, but he knew the code. Reel off some impressive-sounding jargon, and he’d be home free.

The shower curtain clicked along the rail with a tug of Chris’ hand, cutting through the tinny music playing from his phone as he stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel from the back of the door, wrapped it around his waist, then snatched a smaller towel from the rail beside him, roughly scrubbing his hair before draping it around his shoulders.

His attention returned to his phone, propped up against the mirror. A few taps and swipes later, it paired with his electric toothbrush, and he was met with a chirpy morning greeting below a stock image of a beaming smile. With a press of his thumb, the brush sprang to life, buzzing against his teeth, and he went through the motions like a zombie, guided by muscle memory - spitting and flossing and rinsing - the whole minty process finished with a yawn that made his jaw click.

_It’s fine. It’s Thursday. Two days until the weekend. You’re good._

Two days, that was all, he just had to survive a little longer. Just a little bit of bullshit and he could take a break before starting the whole thing all over again.

Teeth dealt with, Chris wiped his hand across the mirror, smearing the steam fogging it with pruned fingers until he was just about visible, bringing him face to face with his first real decision of the day; second if he included the decision not to call in sick.

_Glasses or contacts?_

His eyes weren’t too bad, afflicted by a mild astigmatism that had gotten worse over the years, just enough of a problem to make staring at lines of code a struggle without a lens. He brushed damp locks back from his face, stifling another yawn as he pondered his blurry reflection, little more than vague blotches of colour. On face value, the choice seemed trivial, but Chris had been to enough presentations to know that appearances were important and that little details could make a big difference.

Both options had their pros and cons, but glasses were the obvious choice. Glasses were comfortable, and though it sounded far-fetched, Chris knew the subliminal effect they had, a little visual cue that made him seem smarter and gave him authority, deserved or not. On the other hand, contacts couldn’t be smudged by fidgeting fingers. Once they were in, they were in.

Chris blinked away the moisture clinging to his lashes, features softening as the steam cleared, revealing wilted blond hair and rosy skin. Yes, glasses were easier, and Chris preferred them. They were a nice practical prop, something substantial to hide behind. But still, he hesitated, thoughts returning to another memory weeks prior.

He’d been watching Josh set up in the studio, feeling just a little awkward as he removed his glasses and held them up.

_“On or…?”_

Josh hadn’t hesitated, didn’t even pause to consider the question as if the decision was obvious.

_“Off.”_

In the sessions that followed, Chris did the same again, wordlessly asking with a silent gesture, met with the same nod each time until eventually, he didn’t bother asking anymore. Now, once the warm-up sketches were over, his glasses joined the rest of his belongings, placed neatly atop the pile.

Chris removed the towel from his shoulders, rubbing the mirror before blindly draping it over the rail, gaze fixed on his reflection. The last remnants of tiredness clinging to his features weren’t great, nor the messy arrangement of shower-damp hair, but the rest?

He smoothed his finger along his eyebrow and watched his expression change as he slowly moved his head from side to side, his reflection blinking back at him curiously. He relaxed his shoulders, spine straightening of its own accord as he ran his hand along his jaw, thumb halting on his chin. He didn’t often look at himself, _really_ look, his usual morning routine involving a cursory glance at most. Perhaps he spent a little time on his hair, that much was true, but seeing himself, actually _considering_ himself? No, that rarely happened, not this early.

Tilting his head, Chris followed the contours of his neck and throat, gaze lingering on the wet sheen highlighting his collarbone.

_“Is it easier to draw me without them?”_

Josh glanced up from the easel in memory, hand stilling while he pondered the question.

_“Not really. You’ve got good eyes. Really expressive.”_

Chris hadn’t known what to say, mumbling vague thanks that Josh had shrugged off, returning to his work as diligently as before. But for some reason the throwaway comment had stuck with Chris, playing on his mind even now, weeks later.

He locked eyes with his reflection, hand falling to his side. He still looked a little sleepy perhaps, eyes slightly bloodshot from the shower, but that would soon fade.

_Glasses or…?_

Decision made, Chris dried his hands then opened the medicine cabinet, retrieving a box before pulling it closed. He removed the lens from the packaging in a practised movement and gave it a perfunctory check. Lens balanced on his fingertip, he looked into the mirror, holding his upper lashes firmly against his brow while his middle finger pulled his lower lid down, pausing when banging at the door cut through the music.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?” Chris asked, gently placing the lens over his iris.

“You done yet? I’ve got work in, like--”

“Yeah, just-- two minutes, dude.”

Contact in place, Chris popped the second lens free and repeated the process on his other eye. Blinking, he stepped back from the mirror to see himself better, a slight smile playing on his lips.

_Coffee first, bullshit later._

 

* * *

 

“Eyes up.”

Chris raised his chin, readily responding to the command.

“Yeah, just like that,” Josh said, mainly to himself. He held Chris’ gaze then glanced at the canvas, his hand seeming to move of its own volition.

Chris held still. Engrossed in conversation, he’d lowered his head without thinking.

“Sorry,” he murmured through the corner of his mouth like a ventriloquist.

Josh’s hand continued to move. He looked at the canvas then back up again. “It’s okay, it’s-- your jaw’s doing this... _thing_ , it’s…”

Josh stopped talking, and Chris knew he’d lost him for now but didn’t mind, he was used to it. Though he hadn’t voiced it, Chris was quietly pleased by the excited way Josh was working; busy hands and eyes never settling too long before moving on. Josh stopped him mid-sentence more often these days, usually because some part of Chris was ‘doing a thing’, and though it often put whatever conversation they’d been having on hold, Chris rather liked how Josh trailed off distractedly, at least until a prompt from the blond got him back on track.

This time, Chris stayed quiet and let the room fall into a comfortable silence, punctuated by low music. He watched Josh work for a while - observing Josh almost as much as Josh was observing him - and only spoke again when Josh’s hand stilled, his brow marred by lines.

“What’s up?”

“It’s missing something.”

It was hard for Chris to offer any suggestions without seeing the painting, not that his advice counted for much, so he defaulted to one of his stronger traits, if only to rid Josh’s face of the frown marring it.

“How about a beard?”

“Can you even grow facial hair, bro?” Josh asked, smirking.

“Yeah, I-- hey, fuck you.”

“Don’t you remember last time?”

“It looked good!” Chris insisted.

Josh’s smirk turned dubious. He levelled his hand and tilted it from side to side in a ‘so-so’ motion.

“Seriously, fuck you, dude."

Josh looked at the painting, frown lines replaced with a wry smile. He puzzled over the piece again for a long moment, and soon his hand was moving, more calmly than before.

Again, Chris watched him, silently puzzling over a problem of his own.

Okay, so it wasn’t technically a ‘problem’, not really, but it felt more important than logic said it should. A question rested on Chris' lips, but instead of simply asking, he’d let it sit perched in his throat while he waited for a natural opening that hadn’t presented itself.

_Way to wait till you’re naked, dumbass._

He’d meant to ask before they’d started, could have text Josh before he’d come over, but he’d been putting it off. Well, not putting it off exactly, but working up the guts to, maybe? When he thought of it that way, Chris realised how odd that was because hell, it was just Josh. Still, it was kinda true.

With Josh quietly working away, Chris supposed now was as good a time as any.

“So… I saw this uh, this exhibition that’s coming to the Institute soon. Masters of Italian Sculpture?”

“Yeah, I got an email about it,” Josh said, blotting the canvas.

“There’s some stuff by that Bernini guy?” Chris said, taking care over the name.

Josh's lips quirked into a smile. “Uh-huh.”

“So, uh…” Chris wet his lips and swallowed, trying not to shift too much on the chair. “I was wondering if you wanna go in the new year or something?”

Josh had been following the meandering train of conversation, thinking it little more than distracting words intended to kill a little time. When Chris reached the crux of the matter, he stopped working, regarding the blond quizzically.

“You wanna go to that?”

“Sure,” Chris said brightly. “Thought it might be nice hanging out with clothes on for once. You can educate me. Teach me stuff.”

Josh regarded Chris with wary curiosity, no doubt trying to figure out his motive, but Chris meant what he said. They talked about all kinds of things in their sessions, some serious and some not so much. Unsurprisingly, Josh often talked about art, launching headlong into the topic without much prompting. Perhaps Chris didn't have quite the same enthusiasm for it, and maybe he didn't always pay attention - distracted by the way Josh spoke rather than what Josh said - but the idea of spending a day learning a thing or two in Josh's company was still genuinely appealing.

“A little bird told me that some of the pieces haven’t left Europe before,” Chris added when Josh didn’t reply; the ‘little bird’ in question being an extensive Google search. His eyes flashed as they met Josh’s, and he fixed him with an innocent smile. “I mean, I know a lot of people take things like that for _granite_ , but I think it’ll be _marblelous_.”

Josh peered at Chris over the frames of imaginary glasses. “Really, bro?”

“Sorry. Hand on heart, I won’t embarrass you, I’ll behave," Chris said, breaking into a grin. "I won’t _draw_ any attention to myself.”

“Ugggh..."

“Okay, sorry, I’m done,” Chris said and fell quiet, just long enough for Josh’s disapproving look to fade. “...No more _paintful_ art puns, I _azure_ you.”

Josh placed one hand on his hip, the other pointing firmly at the door with the paintbrush, lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “That’s it, get out of my house.”

“Oh, come on.”

Josh lowered his arm. His smile broadened then softened warmly, and Chris could see him working it out.

"Sure, if you wanna go?” Josh half-asked, half-answered, still not entirely convinced Chris wanted to but liking the idea enough not to question it too much. “I’m a member so I could get us some free tickets.”

“You can?”

Josh nodded. “Yeah. I was gonna get myself one anyway, so.”

Chris went to speak then paused. It was a slight hitch, nothing major. He should have anticipated it - Josh had mentioned the gallery several times - but was suddenly faced with the problem of what he might do with the two tickets he’d already bought. He could probably offload them or rope someone else into going with him - Ash would probably be game for a bit of culture - but even if the tickets went to waste, it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

“Sounds good, man.”

“Sweet.”

With the matter settled and vague plans made, Chris felt more at ease, and though he held the same pose, his shoulders felt looser, like a weight had been lifted from them.

Across the room, Josh had begun painting again. His frown had gone, a small, self-indulgent smile in its place. Chris heard him chuckle softly to himself; a sound Chris wasn’t sure Josh had meant to make.

“What?” Chris asked, not quite in on the joke.

Josh looked up, smile growing crooked. “I was just thinking. It’s been fun. Hanging out, you know? Usually I’m listening to music on my own. Just me and Spotify.” He glanced away thoughtfully. “It’s nice.”

Chris was ready, another dumb joke on the tip of his tongue, but again he paused. Jokes were easy, throwing them out like flash grenades intended to disarm and cloud the issue. Josh would laugh at whatever he said, even if it was just a pity laugh, but for once, Chris didn’t _want_ Josh to laugh.

They shared a look, Josh flashing him that familiar smile and a fleeting lift of brows before he went back to working, easy quiet descending on the room once more.

“Yeah, it is,” Chris murmured, and again he meant it. Every word.


	5. Hit Or Miss

 

* * *

 

The smell of ground beef and sautéed onions filled the apartment as Ashley opened the oven door, peeling back the foil covering the pan to check its contents. A thick layer of cheese bubbled away atop the lasagne. It was under-coloured, but with a good fifteen minutes left to go, it looked good. Carefully tucking the foil back in place, she shut the door, rechecked the temperature, then straightened. Across the room behind her, she heard Chris chuckle softly.

She returned to the kitchen counter with an empty bowl and a block of cheese and found Chris smiling to himself while he sat at the small dining table beyond, phone in hand.

“Work?”

Chris’ face changed as though he’d woken from a thought. He placed the phone on the table and threw her a smile. “No. D’you need a hand?”

Ashley put down the bowl and picked up a cheese grater. “Thanks, but I’ve got this. Where were you thirty minutes ago, huh?”

“Sorry. Smells good.”

Ashley sipped from her glass then began grating. “That’s what cooked food smells like.”

“Oh, whatever would I do without you?”

“Live off ramen like an anime cliché?”

They both knew it was an exaggeration, but there was a kernel of truth to it. Alone, Chris didn’t bother making anything fancy - most of his meals announced by the ding of a microwave or held in one hand while he typed with the other on his lunch break - but he could cook when he wanted to. Hefty breakfasts were his speciality, more of a treat than his usual fare, indulgent enough that they were a strictly ‘weekend only’ deal.

Chris threw her a look, as if to contest it, then shrugged agreement. Clasping his hands together, he lowered his head. “I bow to your superior cooking skills.”

He heard her chuckle and lifted his head, smiling up at her as she set back to work, the way he’d done so many times before.

Of all the high school crowd Chris stayed in touch with, Ashley was the most persistent fixture, a feat for which she was almost entirely responsible. On the surface, their relationship seemed a little one-sided, but what Chris lacked in organisation he made up for with enthusiasm and what he hoped was good company. It wasn’t that Chris didn’t want to see her - he loved their time together - but useless as he was the responsibility for ensuring they met up fell squarely on her shoulders more often than not. Gone were the days when Ashley would suggest a time and place. Now, she told Chris the when and where and he happily obliged, letting her take charge of his schedule.

Unlike Chris with two roommates to contend with, Ashley lived alone, and most plans involved hanging out at her apartment, talking it out like they were right now; Chris sitting at the table while Ashley fixed dinner like a breakfast show host presenting a cooking segment but with more swearing involved. Her place was small but genuinely cosy, not just a euphemism for cramped. She'd filled every nook and cranny, free wall space taken up by photos, prints and seemingly endless rows of bookshelves, a potted library hidden away in the middle of her apartment block. Chris thought it suited her perfectly. After all, it was small but well-proportioned, filled with words, and nicely stacked ‘much like its owner’; a description Ashley scowled at but secretly amused her.

Chris glanced at his phone as it buzzed on the table, catching sight of the first line of a message. He gave a mumbled apology, swiped the notification away, then put the phone aside.

“Everything okay?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah, fine.”

Ashley sipped her drink again then leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, regarding Chris curiously.

“What?”

“You look good,” she said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re holding yourself well. You look happy,” Ashley continued, the observation made into an accusation by her tone and narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not allowed to be happy?” Chris asked, sitting back in his seat.

Ashley glanced at the phone resting beside Chris’ arm. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Ha. Sadly no.”

“ _Chris_?”

“A _hard_ no.”

Ashley scrutinised him for a long moment, not entirely trusting his answer, then finally gave up.

“Well, there’s  _something_ different about you,” she said and resumed grating.

Chris glanced at his phone. Ash was the person he caught up with most often, but Josh was a close second these days, and Chris suspected that had a lot to do with her observation. He was carrying himself well and felt better for it, more aware of his posture than before thanks to his time spent under the beam of a studio lamp. As far as Chris knew, Ashley was oblivious to the sessions. He'd seen her many times since his first foray into the world of modelling but hadn’t told her, and for good reason. They talked about all kinds of things - dating, work, gossip - but that was the problem. Chris knew her so well that he’d already anticipated her response and wasn't sure he was ready for the inevitable teasing and overanalysis that would follow.

He chewed his lip and mulled it over. Maybe she wouldn’t give him  _too_ much shit for it.

“I’m a model now,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gotta have good posture.”

Ashley watched him expectantly, waiting for the punchline. When Chris didn’t elaborate, she blinked at him curiously. “You’re a what now?”

“Not seriously or like, professionally, but… Yeah, so you know Josh from school?”

“Washington? Of course,” Ashley said as though it were a given. “You guys were practically inseparable. Sorry, I mean _insufferable_.”

“Ha-ha. _Anyway_ , he’s still doing his art thing. He’s got a loft downtown and I... may have been modelling for him,” Chris said coyly.

Ashley stared at the blond and lowered the grater, dangerously close to adding her fingertips to the bowl. “Excuse me, what?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re serious?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ashley’s eyes lit up with rampant curiosity, accepting Chris' words yet her lingering disbelief was clear to see. “Shut  _up_. What kind of modelling?”

“Life modelling,” Chris said simply.

Ashley’s brows lifted a touch, a smile creeping onto her face. She blinked at Chris with incredulous amusement.

“ _Naked_?” she asked, then bit her lip.

“Yeah, naked,” Chris said. “What are you, twelve?”

Chris waited for Ashley's amusement to fade, but it never fully did.

“I’m sorry, you just took me off guard,” she said, taking a breath that became a calming sigh. “How long have you been doing this?”

“A couple of months,” Chris said. “He’s really good.”

“A couple of… He is?”

“Yeah. In fact…”

Chris turned his phone over in his hands, toying with an idea. It felt like something he might regret, but maybe it would help her understand.

“...You wanna see?” he asked, holding up his phone.

“ _Oh my God, you have pictures_ ,” Ashley mumbled through her fingers, hand covering her mouth.

“They’re just sketches. They’re not actually photos of me.”

“But they actually  _are_ though, right? If you think about it?”

Chris lowered his phone. “Fine, if you don’t want to--”

“No, no, no, wait. I didn’t say that,” Ashley protested. She hurriedly wiped her hands on a dish towel then rounded the counter.

Chris opened his gallery and searched for an appropriate picture. He didn’t have many, never taking photos unless Josh was okay with it, but there were a few to choose from. He settled on one then glanced up to find Ashley sitting opposite him, hand held out expectantly.

“Are you sure you want to show me?” she asked.

“I think so?” Chris said, placing the phone in her palm.

“You realise I can’t unsee this, right?”

He shot her a look. “Be nice.”

Chris looked on while Ashley examined the charcoal drawing, tilting her head inquisitively to one side.

“...So?”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d be looking at Chris Hartley’s bubble butt today,” Ashley said contemplatively. She glanced up then returned to the photo, spreading her fingers and zooming in a touch. “How does it even work? You meet up and he just draws you?”

“Pretty much. I go there, he works, and we catch up.”

“It’s a regular thing?”

“Uh-huh. It’s been good.”

Perhaps he'd oversimplified it, but the sentiment was genuine. The sessions were an opportunity to spend time with Josh, a little unconventional maybe, but there was more to them than that. In the class at the coffee shop and the private sessions that followed, a peculiarly dispassionate gaze had fallen upon him, and that detachment – that guaranteed neutral acceptance – was appealing in a way Chris couldn't quite articulate. In every other way, whether Chris wanted to admit it, he felt judged and found wanting in his daily life, by his friends, by his family, by himself. But those hours were different; hours spent simply _being_ , whatever that meant. He'd tried not to dwell on it too much because that was the point of it, not to overthink everything for once. But it had been good, just as he'd said. It still was.

“Huh…” Ashley pondered the photo, absently twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “It’s pretty brave putting yourself out there like that.” She scrolled on, brow rising as she paused on the next photo. “ _All_ of you, apparently.”

"Hey!"

Chris reached across the table for his phone as Ashley snatched her hand away. She soon relented and handed it back to him.

“I mean it,” she said, getting to her feet, her teasing smile replaced with something a little more genuine. “Good for you."

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck?” Josh leaned forward in his seat and fixed Chris with a disbelieving look, eyes big, smile wide.

Chris drained his beer, glass clinking as he added it to the cluster of empties gathered on the coffee table between them. “Yeah! He nearly fucking _died_.”

“Bro, that’s… that’s _fucked up_.” Josh shook his head, bursting into open-mouthed laughter that Chris couldn’t help matching. “ _Dude…_ ”

“ _Right_?”

“Man…”

Josh’s laughter gradually softened, but the playful light in his eyes remained. He sat back against the couch cushions with a chuckle, lips curling into a crooked smile, broad and mischievous.

“Well, well. Look at you, Cochise. Out drinking on a school night. What will your boss say?”

A warm smile crept onto Chris' lips, prompted by the dusting off of old nicknames. He glanced at the empty bottles then back to Josh.

“I’m working from home tomorrow, dude. No curfew. I could have another if you’re offering.”

“That, my friend, is the right answer.”

Josh got to his feet and went to the fridge. He opened it, and his persistent smile became a disappointed pout.

“Well, looks like it’s all null and void anyway, bud. I’m all out. Unless…” Josh paused then closed the fridge. “You wanna go out?”

“ _Out_ out? Like a bar or something?”

“Yeah, man. Or we could bring some drinks back here, I guess? What time are we on?”

Chris pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch, eyebrows rising in mild surprise. “Ten thirty. Shit, when did that happen?”

A post-session beer had become part of their routine, one for the road before Chris headed home, but tonight they'd been caught up in conversation, one drink becoming two more before they knew it. It didn't feel like they'd been chewing the fat for long, but there was no denying the darkness beyond the shutters, time passing without them even noticing.

“So… You game?” Josh asked.

Chris smiled. He liked this a lot. It was kind of like old times, so like fond memories of pregaming in Josh’s bedroom at his parents’ place a billion years ago, of fake IDs, cramped clubs, and coming home with the smell of sweat and second-hand smoke clinging to his hair. Sure, technically he had work in the morning - he might have to take a few calls, reply to a few emails - but with Josh looking over at him, wearing a persuasive grin, Chris was loath to cut the night short.

“Fuck it, I'm down.” He eyed Josh skeptically, smile growing to a grin. “Are you?”

Josh looked down at himself with a huff, sensing Chris’ thoughts. He was dressed for the most part, but with charcoal smudges and the other marks of his craft staining his arms and fingers he wasn’t ready for a night out.

“Yeah… Give me five to clean up and I’m good to go.”

“Sure, man.”

Josh rounded the living room before Chris could change his mind, grabbing a towel from a cupboard beside the bathroom door before it closed behind him.

Chris picked up his coat and tapped the pockets, seeking out the familiar shapes of his wallet and keys. He glanced around for his bag then remembered, memory catching up with him a moment later. With his coat draped over his arm, he headed to the stairs, climbing the steps at a slow jog.

He hadn’t spent much time alone in the studio, a place comfortingly familiar to him now despite the flux of canvases and ever-changing mess. He turned the light on as he entered, catching sight of his bag beside the couch where he'd left it, and headed toward it, pausing when he heard running water from the bathroom below. With time to kill, he changed course.

They'd tidied most of the props away after their session, the chair and studio lamp back in place, but Josh's easel remained standing on the rug. Chris walked over to it, the bumps of dried paint like braille beneath his fingertips as he ran his hand over its frame and pondered the charcoal sketch Josh had been working on. He wasn't the best judge, but it looked like Josh was improving. Chris found himself smiling at the thought.

He wandered to Josh's desk, careful not to disturb the items on its surface as he pored over them inquisitively. He peered into a coffee mug filled with murky brown water and at the palette beside it, thick with colour, then looked around, eyes roaming the walls of the small room. It still amazed him sometimes that Josh could work like this, but it seemed to work for him. He'd never seen Josh struggle to find what he was looking for or get annoyed by it, anyway.

Curiosity sated, Chris went to fetch his bag, only noticing the sad-looking scrap of paper beneath his foot when it was already too late.

"Shit!"

Chris picked it up and examined it, glad to find his shoe had left only the faintest of grey scuffs. He turned it over to inspect the other side and found himself looking at a face he knew well, his likeness peering sidelong at him.

The sketch was intact, unblemished by Chris' blunder, much to his relief. He pondered it, a thoughtful little smile on his lips. It was a good likeness though Josh obviously thought otherwise since it had ended up underfoot; another reject falling victim to his exacting standards.

For a moment, Chris thought to keep it. Josh didn't want it, and it wouldn't be missed. But then he noticed the piece of masking tape stuck to it and frowned. Josh used tape in their sessions sometimes - a neat border framing the page to hold it in place - but this sketch differed, the tape affixed at an odd angle, rough and askew. He'd assumed Josh had discarded it, maybe that was the case, but it had been attached to something.

But what?

Chris looked around; sketch held out in front of him like a blindfolded kid at a birthday party. His gaze finally settled on a likely source; a lone easel pushed back against the couch with similar scraps of paper stuck to its frame above the canvas resting on it.

He dumped his coat on the couch then went to the easel, bending down to flick off the brakes, turning it carefully on its casters. He straightened then flattened out the tape, the smell of paint growing stronger as he reached up and stuck the sketch to the easel, filling the space left in its absence.

Job done, Chris glanced at the painting, then froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. The reference sketches and colour studies taped to the easel were testaments to the hours he’d spent posing, but it still gave him pause. He caught glimpses of Josh’s work more often these days, sometimes more if Josh felt like sharing, but this painting differed to the others he’d seen. It wasn't brighter exactly, but the usual dark hues were muted, the brooding dashes of colour characteristic of Josh's work conspicuously absent. Josh’s style was there, apparent in distinctive angles and the weight of the brushstrokes, but somehow the tone of the piece was different. It felt grounded.

Chris stepped back, arms falling to his sides. He remembered the pose from weeks before, could even recall the conversation they’d been having at the time - reclining on the daybed while they weighed up the merits of the RoboCop remake - only in his mind Chris hadn’t seen it this way.

The background faded to bold block colour, a blue that highlighted his eyes, contrasting with the blonde tones of his hair and the wrinkled sheets and pillow beneath his head, strangely warm despite their cool yellow tinge. His painted counterpart looked relaxed, hand folded over his hip, the other resting above his head, cheek lightly pressed to his upper arm. He wore the hint of a smile; lips parted ever so slightly as though about to speak. There was a thought there in his sidelong glance, a joke perhaps, dancing in his eyes.

It wasn’t a sympathetic rendering, no mere exercise in flattery or whitewashing, there was more to it than that. Chris saw himself in it, but it was like viewing himself through a different lens. He saw the parts of himself he disliked, but Josh hadn't dwelt upon them. His perceived flaws and the imperfections he wrestled with - the roundness of his thighs, the softness of his stomach - were laid out honestly, yet they didn’t seem as bad as they did in his head, the painting somehow better for their inclusion. He was no Adonis by any means, but his other attributes - his eyes, his smile, the things he allowed himself to like - were apparent, strengthened by an objective eye. More than that, Josh had taken care over features Chris barely gave thought to: the line of his jaw, the broad expanse of his chest, toned arms, and muscle definition that ingrained diffidence refused to acknowledge.

Chris tilted his head, transfixed by the painting. Of all the poses he’d held and aching muscles he’d endured, Josh had chosen to paint this, a disarmingly candid moment Chris hadn’t thought about since. With just a little paint, Josh had captured it.

Somehow, it was him, all of him. And the strangest part was that, for the first time in a long while, Chris liked what he saw.

“You ready?”

Chris hadn’t heard the water cut off, nor Josh’s footfalls on the staircase. He glanced over his shoulder and found Josh watching him curiously from the doorway, dressed in fresh clothes, damp clinging to his hair.

“When did you do this?” Chris asked, ignoring the question.

“Oh…” Josh said, voice softening. He slowly crossed the room until they were shoulder to shoulder. “On my own time. Hell, you gave me enough to work with.”

Chris didn’t speak, staring at the painting in rapt silence.

How long had it been there, hiding in plain sight?

“It’s not finished,” Josh added, apologetic almost. “There’s still loads to do and things I wanna add, but--”

“You-- it’s… it’s good.”

“Yeah?” Josh asked, folding his arms.

“Yeah, _really_ good.”

“Thanks.”

Josh watched the blond, a slow smile of relief spreading across his face as he followed the movements of Chris’ eyes across the canvas.

Chris gave another faint nod then reached into his pocket. “You mind if I…?”

Josh eyed the phone in Chris’ hand, smile muddled by hesitance. “I mean… yeah, if you  _want_ to. But it’s not done and--”

“Really? It looks done.”

At that, Josh chuckled softly. “I guess it’s hard knowing when to stop sometimes. Yeah, if you-- sure, go ahead.”

Chris turned his phone sideways and lined up the shot, the quiet broken by the artificial click of a camera shutter. He lowered it and mused over the photo for a long moment, deep in thought, then put it away.

“Is that how you see me?” he asked, turning to Josh.

Josh went to speak then paused, taken aback by the question. None of Chris' usual sarcasm was there, no scepticism, no joke, just a simple out of place innocence that took him off guard.

“Well, yeah. I’m just working with what you give me,” Josh said, a soft, uncertain smile playing on his lips. He looked from the painting to its subject and gave Chris a small, almost bashful shrug. “It’s just a bunch of lines and shapes.”

_That's not true, is it?_

Chris frowned, startled by the suddenness of the thought. It seemed to spring from nowhere, yet he felt the truth of it as if it was a solid, tangible thing. Josh was downplaying his accomplishments, the painting so much more than the simple task he made it out to be, but that wasn't what Chris meant by the thought. It wasn't a matter of skill or faux modesty, not this time.

It had never occurred to him that anyone could see him the way he was on that canvas, his likeness rendered in oils, not just seeing him, but somehow knowing him in a way Chris hadn’t even realised he  _could_ be known. The realisation that someone could see him like that, that Josh of all people...

He held Josh’s gaze, the look in Josh's eyes all but confirming it.

Josh liked him.

Chris went to speak then faltered, struck by the uncanny feeling that he was looking at someone new. A single thought came to him, one that rang as true as the last. With Josh staring back at him, a disarmingly humble smile was all it took.

Josh liked him, and he...

...How had he not known? It seemed so obvious, growing clearer the more he looked. It was there in the way he took care over his appearance when he went to Josh's apartment, the way he laughed that little bit harder at Josh’s jokes these days, genuinely amused but exaggerated. It was there in the way he found himself thinking about Josh for no reason, the way he'd just be going about his day and there Josh was, playing on his mind. And now he knew why.

Affection one step beyond fondness or friendship stirred in Chris' chest, something that had been there for a while if he was honest with himself; indistinct and half-formed. He felt so many things right then, stupid for not knowing, happy he finally did, but also nervous, because what was he supposed to do with this revelation? What did it mean?

Josh's smile faded, his expression quietly questioning, soft eyes alight with the very same thought. Chris saw it there so plainly now, loud and unmistakable.

How long had it been there, right under his nose?

Chris wasn't sure who closed the space between them. It felt like they both did, but he still found himself surprised by the press of Josh’s lips against his own.

It had never crossed his mind before that Josh might see him as more than a friend. Even in recent months, Josh had shown no interest in pursuing more than they were. Until that moment, he was just Josh, his friend from school who put up with his dumb jokes and gave him shit, but not anymore. Now, Josh was a warm mouth against his own, shower-fresh and oh so close.

Chris felt the weight of Josh’s hands on his shoulders as Josh pulled away, searching Chris' eyes for a question he hadn’t asked before kissing him again, more surely than before.

He wasn’t ‘Just Josh’ anymore.

The slight tilt of Josh’s head was all the prompting Chris needed, lips parting in answer, eyes closing on instinct. He kissed back, slowly at first then more certainly, encouraged by Josh's palm, firm against his cheek. His hand found Josh's side, grounding him, doubt giving way to confidence as Josh's fingers raked upward through his hair.

_Shit, this is happening._

Chris still couldn't quite believe it, but there was no denying the heat that left him tingling all over, stirred up by soft lips, warm breath, and gentle hands. He hadn't realised how much he'd wanted to kiss Josh until then. Now that he had, Chris couldn't help wondering why he'd waited so long.

Josh wrapped his arm around Chris' waist, hand firm on his nape, and Chris felt fresh butterflies, heart slowing down and skipping at the same time. He let Josh walk him back a pace then another until there were no more steps to take, heat pooling in his veins as Josh ran a hand over his back, slipping beneath layers of shirt and sweater to smooth against bare skin.

Steadying himself on the arm of the couch, Chris pulled Josh closer, a slow slide of tongue coaxing a soft moan that hummed between them. The weight of Josh against him felt surreal, brand-new and familiar all at once, but with Josh kissing him, mouth warm and hungry, Chris didn't want to stop.

The couch cushions creaked as Chris sank into them, a welcome rush of nerves spreading through him as Josh followed him down. A restless sound against Chris’ lips only tightened his hold as Josh ushered him back into worn leather, hand smoothing along Chris’ thigh as he settled between his legs.

_F-fuck, this is--_

Chris' mind went blank, need twisting in his stomach when Josh slipped his hand beneath him, fingers tightening in blonde hair as he turned Chris' head. Chris kissed back eagerly, mouth messy, a little urgent, and felt himself getting hard as Josh stirred against him, a slow shifting that became an unmistakable rock.

“Mmh…”

Wrapped up in the feeling of Josh over him, time seemed to speed up and slow down, the restless thumping of Chris' heart at odds with the drawn-out grind of Josh's hips. Josh seemed to be everywhere, so warm and achingly close as he gently urged Chris against him, hand firm on Chris' ass while he teased soft moans from the blond beneath him, the hot slide of his tongue making Chris' breath catch.

" _Mmmh_..."

Josh's breath was heavy when Chris pushed back against him, slow friction adding to the ache between them. Still kissing, Josh arched away, clumsy fingers seeking out the fastening of Chris’ jeans.

_Sh-shit, th-- this is really hap--_

“Nnh--”

“Fuck.”

Chris opened his eyes when Josh abruptly pulled away, Josh's voice like a cold shower cutting through the haze. He met Chris' eye then pushed up off the couch, already on his feet before Chris had a chance to question it.

Chris looked up, blinking confusion when he found himself suddenly alone.

“...Josh?”

Standing awkwardly beside the couch, Josh looked away, flustered and unsure of himself. "Fuck, that's... that’s not what this is about.”

“...What?”

“ _Fuck.”_

Chris sat up, leather creaking under him. He adjusted his glasses and saw Josh swallow, green eyes dancing with troubled thoughts.

“I uh, I sh-- I shouldn’t have done that,” Josh murmured, running a rattled hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I..."

Chris' mouth formed vague shapes as he tried to find his voice, made dumb by incomprehension. He looked to Josh for an answer, wondering what the hell he'd done wrong, but found no explanation, only more questions.

“I… I can call you a cab or…?”

“Yeah, I...” Chris began without thinking, blinking when he realised what he'd said. “No, I mean, it’s-- I can…”

Chris trailed off, frowning when Josh stayed quiet. At a loss, he picked up his belongings then got to his feet, pausing before walking to the doorway. He stood there in awkward silence, meeting Josh's eye before Josh glanced away, the moment stretching out, painfully long.

“Night…?” Chris said, not entirely convinced of what he was saying.

Josh nodded softly, gaze trained on the floor. “Yeah…”

Josh listened as Chris’ footfalls grew fainter. He heard the apartment door shut and winced, fresh memories stirring up an uneasy mix of desire and guilt. Alone in the quiet, his fears found their voice.

_What the fuck were you thinking?_

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He’d acted on impulse before, going with his gut and leaving the consequences till later, but this was different. A few beers, a few kind words, and he’d let himself get swept up in a moment that risked fucking everything up, and for what? A quick fumble on the couch?

Josh looked at the open door. Chris was probably still in the building, maybe in the lobby by now, but he could catch him if he hurried. He took a step towards the door then stopped, thinking better of it. What would he even  _say_?

He hadn't lied about his intentions; he had no ulterior motive. Their sessions were about being productive and catching up with someone he’d lost touch with. They were about progression and getting out of a rut, and having a good time was a bonus. Pretty much fucking Chris through his clothes was never part of the plan. Hell, there had never even been a plan. But would Chris see it that way?

_He's an adult. You're an adult. You’re both single. What’s the problem?_

But Josh already knew the answer. The problem was history. The problem was thinking with his dick instead of with his head. The problem was a little thing called possibly fucking up on such a grand scale he wouldn’t be able to fix it.

The problem was Chris. When Josh picked it apart, it all came down to that. It was _Chris_ , one of his oldest friends, someone who had always been so firmly in the category of off-limits that something like this was never supposed to happen.

_But you’ve thought about it._

He had thought about it, there was no point denying it, but in that way you didn't let yourself really think about something, catching himself before a thought or feeling could settle for too long. Sometimes his mind wandered to guilty places in the quiet moments they shared, triggered by something as simple as a glance, but he always forced himself to look away or think about something else.

_Why did you let it go on for so long?_

He'd known better but ignored common sense because he hadn’t wanted to cut it short, taking the hit because the payoff was worth the little bit of heartache that came with it. He’d kept on seeing Chris because their friendship was enough, it had always been _enough_.

He was pacing without realising and stopped himself, leaning his weight against the arm of the couch with a sigh.

_You're lying again._

Deep down Josh knew it, the way he'd always known.

Standing there by the painting, he’d finally let himself look at what he felt. And when he looked, he'd thought for one bright moment he'd seen it looking back at him, just for a split second...

_Stop kidding yourself._

He couldn’t ignore the sound Chris made, small and foreign, almost lost amid the groan of leather as Chris tensed uncertainly beneath him. It was so hesitant and out of place, like a siren going off in Josh’s head screaming that no, Josh hadn’t seen it and no, it wasn’t okay, and if he didn’t back off right then it would become something that he couldn’t undo...

...but the way Chris had kissed him didn’t feel like going through the motions. That felt like it had meant something. That felt _real_.

Josh ran his hand over his mouth as if to reassure himself. He could almost still feel him there.

He grimaced.

 _You're wrong. You're wrong, and you fucked up and now what? What the hell do I do now?_ he thought, low panic rising in his chest. But he already knew the answer to that, too. He needed to back off and give it space just like last time; let the distance grow until they only saw each other for the holidays, until he woke up and Chris wasn't on his mind anymore, any feelings he’d ever had reduced to a dumb adolescent crush, and that was it. That was  _it_. That was  _all_.

The guilt was back, sitting heavy in his gut, brought on by a confession Josh had ignored for so long. He’d told himself he wouldn’t act on it - had never let the idea linger, always brushing it aside - but it had still somehow happened.

_He didn’t say stop._

No, Chris hadn’t stopped him, but that wasn’t the point, was it? He’d crossed a line. Through a lapse in judgement, he'd turned something good into something else; something cheap and tacky and…

Josh sat down on the couch, sinking into it like a stone. He leaned back and glanced at the painting, laughing bitterly before looking away, gaze trailing to the ceiling.

...It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It wasn’t supposed to go like anything.

He traced painted clouds with a vacant stare then closed his eyes.

“Fuck.”


	6. Almost

It was summer again, the first week back home after their first year at college, a year that had seemed to pass quickly yet so much had happened. Exams were over, assignments handed in, and now the long break stretched out ahead of them. Josh suspected it would be over before he knew it, but for now, he pushed the thought aside.

Chris was home two days before him, and the speed with which Chris got in touch suggested the blond was already burnt out on being at home, the novelty of spending time with his folks quickly exhausted. No sooner had Josh returned, only halfway through unpacking his stuff, Chris was already on the porch of the Washington household, Josh’s mom calling up the stairs, announcing Chris’ arrival the way she’d done throughout their school years. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

Josh hadn’t seen Chris since early spring. There was a lot to catch up on, and they had briefly before Josh’s mom’s insistence on a family meal cut it short. But now, a day and one big conversation with his family later, Josh was free to spend his time how he chose.

The decision was easy.

The park was one of many but managed to hold the title of 'The Park'; close enough to Chris’ house that it wasn't a chore to get to but far enough removed that it felt like their own private space. It had been busier back in their early teens, thanks to the renovation in ‘05 some eight years prior. Before the refurb, the park was pretty dull, a playground consisting of an old swing set, a rust-flecked slide and an ominous-looking run of monkey bars bordered by unused open space. But with the help of some regeneration money, the old equipment had been replaced, and in the empty patch of grassland, a skate pack erected.

It wasn’t much, no Lincoln Park or Venice Beach, but to their young minds, it was epic. It was all concrete, split between a quirkily-shaped bowl and an L-shaped street section, home to flat blanks, a grind block and a few rails. The bowl itself sank to five feet in some places, eight in others, with hips and roll-ins guiding skaters around its sections. Other features included a nine-foot inversion, a vert extension  _and_ a banked extension; facts Josh remembered reeling off enthusiastically when the pair visited it at its opening.

Neither Chris nor Josh had stuck with skateboarding for long in the grand scheme of things, but for a few years, The Park had been their second home. And when their interest started to dwindle, and they no longer took their decks out with them, it was still a solid hangout spot.

Not much had changed over the years, bar the graffiti murals. The place was still popular with the skate crowd, and a few guys occupied the bowl some twenty feet from where Josh and Chris were now sitting, legs hanging over the concrete lip, feet resting on the loveseat below.

Josh felt weird about doing it here. He'd deliberated on doing it somewhere else for fear of ruining somewhere that meant to him, somewhere important. But then, wasn't  _this_ important? And he felt safe here in a way he couldn't quite explain. It was  _their_ place.

He followed the lazy path of one of the skaters with his gaze, watching as the guy tried and failed to land a miller flip, then returned to Chris, who was leaning back on his hands with his eyes closed, face lifted to the afternoon sun.

“Chris?”

“Hm?”

Josh smoothed down the leg of his pants, fingers playing with the frayed knee of his jeans, then took a breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Chris turned to him. He smiled, but Josh saw the hint of apprehension in it, brought on by Josh’s serious tone.

“Shoot.”

“I…”

This was it, the moment he’d been rehearsing in the car on the way home, but Josh still didn’t feel ready.

“...I like…”

_Do it. Say it. Say it now._

“...boys.”

Chris blinked a few times, and Josh forced himself not to look away as Chris searched his gaze. He could see Chris working it out, trying to piece together evidence from their shared history to back up the claim the same way his sisters and parents had the night before, figuring out the same puzzle he’d spent the last year solving. His time away had given him license to be himself out in the world without the trappings of home, space to figure himself out. With room to breathe, the answer had come easily.

Chris’ curious look softened. He pulled his legs up from the bowl and turned to Josh, leaning his weight on one arm.

“Is that it?”

Josh didn’t know what to say at first, settling on a tentative “...Yeah?”

Chris’ expression turned serious, but not too much.

“You  _knew_ it wouldn’t matter to me, right?” he said earnestly. “It doesn’t change anything. You  _do_ know that?”

For a moment, Josh wasn't sure how to feel. Maybe Chris knew it, for his smile broadened.

“Dude, it’s cool, we’re good. You can stop shitting yourself over it. We’re good, I promise.”

It was difficult to be nervous anymore faced with Chris’ encouraging smile and blunt words of support, and Josh let out the breath he’d been holding, escaping him in a shaky gust of laughter. He smiled, relieved, and pushed out another exaggerated breath. “Fuck, man…”

Chris watched him, giving Josh a little time and space to collect himself.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, amused. He pushed up from the concrete and held out his arms. “You gonna bring it in or what?”

Josh obliged and edged along the coping and was pulled into a hug that almost winded him.

“It’s all good, bro,” Chris said and gave Josh another tight squeeze. “I’m good, you’re good, we’re good.”

Josh chuckled more relief, muffled by Chris’ hoodie. It was all good, he knew it as soon as Chris said it, but still, a soft voice remained, a tiny nagging thought worrying his brow even now in the face of such acceptance. Everything he’d said was true; he’d been honest. But not entirely.

_I like…_

There were a thousand ways he could have ended that sentence - some true, some not - and though he’d picked truth, it wasn’t the truth he’d planned for on that car journey; one word changed but making all the difference in the world.

Chris released him and leaned back on his hands again. “How long have you known?”

Knowing and accepting were two different things, Josh knew that now, but it was still hard to pinpoint. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

“A while.”

“Have you told your parents?”

“Yeah, I uh…”

Chris watched him with patient expectation. In that moment, he had Chris’ undivided attention, like nothing and nobody else existed, let alone mattered.

_It doesn’t change anything._

That was a good thing, Chris had meant it to be. But maybe that was the problem.

Josh put the thought back in its box and let it go.

“Yeah, I told them,” he said with a soft smile.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

_Hi Chris,_

_Thanks for letting me know. Please find the quotation attached as requested. Can you please confirm the timescale required for the alternative option as outlined below?_

Chris skimmed the email, eyes glazing over. He could never concentrate much after lunch - the tail end of any workday less productive than its start - but with the weight of the week hanging over him, today he felt it acutely. It was a frequent enough problem, but the same old tactics weren’t working. The coffee he’d drunk to shake off the languor hadn't made a dent, leaving him more twitchy than energised. He hadn't been able to talk himself into tackling anything new either, resigned to going through the motions, pushing his work around like unwanted food on a plate. It wasn't all bad though. Boring yes, tedious definitely. But the admin stuff was necessary. More than that, it was a distraction.

Chris typed a reply, fingers working on automatic, then sent it on its way. Stifling a yawn, he opened the next email.

_Chris,_

_Can you present the information in a handful of PowerPoint slides I can use as a basis to communicate out to a larger group? If you need further information, let me know. In the meantime, I’ve asked Jonathan to start identifying pilot groups…_

Chris raised his mug to his lips, grimacing as he knocked back the last mouthful of cold coffee. After reading the email a second time, he lowered the mug and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

_Ugh…_

With a sigh, he began typing the most tactful reply he could muster, but stopped, disturbed from his thoughts by a buzzing on his desk. Eyes trained on his computer, Chris reached for his phone. He glanced down at it, about to answer the call, then paused, a pang of unease cutting through the afternoon lethargy.

And there it was, the cause of his mundane quest for diversion sitting in the palm of his hand; a single letter beneath a face he knew all too well.

Chris stared dumbly at his phone while it vibrated in his palm. Two days without hearing anything and now he was getting a phone call?

He couldn't remember the last time Josh called him. The guy was pretty much allergic to talking on the phone, they both were, resorting to stupid messages and avoiding actual conversations whenever they could. This wasn't the normal state of things. But then, nothing about the last few days had been ‘normal’.

After a moment's indecision, Chris answered.

“Hey.”

“Hey… You free to talk?”

“Yeah, sure. I can-- give me a sec.”

Chris got to his feet then wound his way between the desks, meeting the curious looks from his team with a brief lift of his brow. When he reached the empty stairwell beyond the kitchen, he stopped, leaning against a handrail beside a full-length window. Clutching the phone to his chest, he cleared his throat then held it to his ear.

“What’s up?” he asked in an affectedly breezy tone.

The phone was quiet. From the other end of the line, Chris heard Josh sigh.

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry about the other night, for freaking out and for-- That was a dick move. I don’t want you to think that’s what this has all been about. I was way out of line and… It’s not _like_ that.”

Chris let the words sink in, unsure what to say. He’d expected some preamble bullshit nothing talk before the matter playing on his mind was even touched upon and was thankful for the relative privacy of the stairwell.

“Yeah, I know, dude. I get it. It happens.”

Even as he said it, Chris knew how fake it sounded. Stuff like that didn’t ‘just happen’, not with Josh. They both knew it.

He heard another sigh, of relief this time. True or not it seemed like he'd said enough to put Josh’s mind at ease.

“Good, ‘cause I thought I might’ve...” Josh paused. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We're fine, man,” Chris said. A slight smile tugged at his lips. “I’m irresistible, I get it.”

“Yeah, _okay_.”

Josh chuckled softly, a welcome sound that went some way toward loosening the anxious knot in Chris’ chest.

“You uh, wanna get a coffee or something?” Josh asked, his voice a little less tense than before.

Chris smirked. “When have we ever gone for coffee?”

“Fine, whatever. A drink then,” Josh conceded.

“Yeah… yeah, sure.”

Chris looked out over the parking lot. In the brief quiet, he could almost hear Josh thinking.

“So, I don’t know what you wanna do about the whole modelling thing. I get it if you don’t want to. I’ve got references I can--”

“No, that’s…”

Chris frowned, absently following a car as it pulled out of the parking lot, its journey barely registered. What was he supposed to say? It would be awkward at first, but surely cancelling would only make things weirder between them. Besides, what else were they going to do? Avoid seeing each other forever? Fall back into old habits, making plans that would never happen?

“... I’ll do it,” he said finally.

“Yeah?” Josh asked, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his voice.

“Sure,” Chris said, brightening.

“Alright, well… You free Saturday?”

Chris turned as a woman pushed open the door to the offices. He gave her a vague nod as she passed, her footfalls echoing off the walls as she turned the corner and kept descending.

“Yeah. _Painfully_ free.”

“Ha. Well, okay. Thanks, man. It’s a big help.”

“No problem.”

“So… see you then?”

“Sure.”

Chris turned from the window when the call ended, shoulders relaxing as he leaned back against the handrail. As far as awkward conversations went, it felt like he’d dodged a bullet. They were talking again. Everything was okay.

So why didn’t it  _feel_ okay?

He was relieved of course, but in the wake of resolution came a disappointment he hadn’t expected, worry replaced with the weight of other concerns.

Chris peered down at the darkened phone screen, finger poised. With a swipe, he unlocked it, then opened the gallery, guided by muscle memory until he was looking at a photo he’d found himself staring at often in their short time apart.

_You should’ve said something._

He'd tried, at least at first, to bridge the gap that had opened, tentative texts that barely touched what was on his mind. When no reply came, he'd agonised over it, poring over every word, so many messages left unsent. Two days alone with his thoughts - replaying that night over and over in his idle moments, driven to distraction - and, now that everything was ‘fine’, Chris couldn’t deny it anymore. It had snuck up on him out of the blue, but it was there now. It had stuck. He'd seen Josh in a new way, his face no longer that of a friend, but that of a brand-new person, a person Chris liked more than that. Now that he had, Chris wasn't sure he ever would - ever  _could_ \- see Josh the same way again.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed hearing Josh’s voice until he called, but that didn't mean Chris hadn't thought about him. Josh was the first person he thought about when he woke up in the morning now, a lingering presence in the back of his mind Chris couldn't stop revisiting no matter how hard he tried. In the blank spaces between conversations and activity his thoughts drifted to the sight of Josh looking back at him, to the way Josh kissed and felt pressed against-- oh  _fuck_ , he liked him, didn't he? He  _really_ fucking liked him, and before that was something to get his head around, but now it was a problem.

Chris looked at the painting, brow marred by troubling thoughts.

It wasn’t just a thing that happened, not for him. But maybe it was for Josh.

Chris locked his phone and returned it to his pocket, roused by footfalls from the floor below. He took a breath and corrected his expression, frown fading as he left the stairwell behind.


	7. Want You Bad

Chris waited by the door, idly tracing the wooden zero protruding from the wall beside him with his palm. He hadn’t been waiting long, a few minutes at most, but it felt like an age. He hesitated then knocked on the door. When no reply came, he hung back.

_He’s home, just chill._

He glanced at the mirror opposite, checking his hair before leaning back against the wall again, telling himself that this was just like any of the other times he’d come here, business as usual. But part of him - the anxious part unconsciously brushing down his clothes and rapping its fingers against the wall - couldn’t quite believe he’d agreed to this. Standing there in the corridor, it felt like the first visit again, a big unknown waiting for him beyond the door.

_This is fine. Everything’s normal._

Maybe if he told himself enough, he’d start to believe it.

Chris pushed away from the wall, about to knock again, when he heard the slide of the latch.

The door opened, and Josh peered out at him, frowning slightly. “Is it three already?”

“Yeah…?”

Josh smiled weakly. “Sorry, man. I was on a roll.”

The evidence of Josh’s productivity was clear to see. His hands and arm were blotchy, his shirt and neck stained with smears of fresh colour, hair flecked with paint.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Chris said, smiling as he looked Josh up and down. He pointed at Josh's chest. “You’ve got red on you.”

“Fucking nerd,” Josh smirked.

Chris followed Josh inside, treading ground he’d walked so many times before. When he reached the projector, he turned, and couldn’t help noticing the way Josh’s expression changed, instinctively snapping back into a smile.

“Busy week?” Josh asked.

“Not really,” Chris said then faltered. “...You?” he asked, at a loss.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” Josh said, motioning to his clothes. “Yeah…”

Chris smiled as silence opened up, but inside he was struggling, searching for something, anything to say. It wasn’t usually this hard to make conversation, but today felt different.

_Great. Small talk._

Josh was watching him; his own uneasy smile mirrored back at him. It faded briefly as Josh' lips parted, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to say something, but a second later his mouth closed as if he’d thought better of it.

“So…”

“So,” Josh said, clearing his throat, “I thought we could do some clothed stuff today if you want?”

Chris frowned softly, muddling through a mixture of awkwardness and logic, finally settling on the latter.

“It’s kinda about what you need, right? I mean, I can do the usual… It’s fine.”

“Yeah...” Josh conceded, “If you don’t mind?”

“It’s why I’m here, man.”

“Right… Well, if you wanna pick up where we left off--” Josh's eyes widened. “The uh, the pose from last time?” he clarified.

Chris shifted awkwardly on his feet before stopping himself, cringing inside as Josh tried and failed to suppress a wince. “Sure.”

“Cool. Cool, right, um… so… see you up there?” Josh asked.

“Right...”

 

* * *

 

It felt different climbing the stairs this time; not awkward, but something uncomfortably close to it. When Chris entered the studio, that feeling only grew, the sense of something amiss hanging in the air. It was there in the little things, like the way Josh got up from his stool as though interrupted, the brightness of his smile at odds with his uneasy stance.

“You good?” Josh asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good…”

Josh had already drawn the blinds. The props were arranged and the lighting set up the way it had been a dozen times before, but it felt staged this time, no longer comfortable and familiar.

Chris rounded the daybed and dropped his belongings on the couch, horribly aware of the distance between them. It felt so weird again, the hours he’d spent here undone overnight.

When he turned around, Josh was pulling a sheet loose from a hamper, spreading it over the mattress. He hung back as Josh fetched a pillow, consulting his half-finished sketch before returning to the bed.

Josh fluffed the pillow then placed it on the daybed, pondered it briefly, then angled it a little differently. “That’s the problem with stuff like this. Once you move it, you can never get it how it was.”

Chris chuckled politely. “I’m sure.”

Josh stepped back, watching Chris expectantly before he remembered himself, a flash of panicked realisation in his eyes. He turned away then set a course for the easel.

“Whenever you’re ready, man,” Josh called over his shoulder.

Chris unfastened the tie to his robe.

_Oh man, this is so bad._

He glanced over at Josh, who was making ineffectual adjustments to the easel, then slipped the robe from his shoulders and tossed it onto the couch. He vaguely remembered the pose from their last session and sat down widthways on the bed to recreate it, feet pressed to the floor. He leaned back on his hands, relaxed his shoulders, and waited.

Josh rummaged aimlessly through a box of charcoal, frowning at his hands. He'd known it might be uncomfortable, but this was worse than he’d imagined. Everything had been so easy before, so effortless, but now he was too aware of himself and what Chris might think, second-guessing his every move. Why did it have to be weird again?

You’re _making this weird._

He dared to glance up, prompted by the sound of shifting material and the creak of mattress springs. When Chris met his eye, Josh looked away, attention returning to the box.

How was he supposed to draw Chris if he could barely look at him?

_Just get over it. Be natural. Grow the fuck up._

Though it seemed difficult, the answer was simple enough. All he had to do was be normal, or at the very least professional. This was just like any other session; nothing had changed.

Josh suppressed a sigh, then brightened.

“Ready?” he asked.

Chris nodded.

Josh looked at the half-finished sketch then back to Chris.

“Right arm out a little?” Josh said, smiling encouragement when Chris obliged. He glanced at the sketch again. “Almost, but… Turn your hand. Right hand.”

"Better?" Chris asked, correcting his position.

Josh hesitantly got to his feet, chewing his lip. “Sorry, man, if you just… You um…” He smiled, a tentative twitch of his lips. “You mind if I...?”

"Sure.”

Chris held his pose as Josh approached.

“So, if you just…”

Josh paused uncertainly then raised his hand and adjusted Chris' arm, hurriedly retreating to consult his sketch. He considered it for a moment then returned to Chris.

"Head up?”

Chris looked up, gaze fixed on the far wall.

“Lower.”

Again, Chris complied, but it still wasn’t quite right.

Josh reached out hesitantly, turning Chris' head. It was almost right, now. He pushed back gently on Chris’ shoulder.

“And back a little--”

Josh froze, eyes widening as Chris' fingers circled his wrist. His lips parted a touch, heart suddenly in his throat, but nothing came out, not at first. Belatedly, he found his voice and dumbly finished his sentence like a stalling car starting up again.

“...Here.”

Chris met his gaze. His expression had changed, the fake normality gone, a question and an answer in the upturn of his eyebrows. Slowly, he released Josh’s wrist, only to place his palm over Josh's hand, pressing it more firmly against his skin.

Josh went to speak, lips moving mutely. This had to mean what he thought it meant. It _had_ to. He could try to talk himself out of it, deny it all he wanted, but it felt like this meant something, the same way it had before.

The idea that Chris might want this had never crossed his mind before that kiss. He could pretend he hadn’t thought about it in all the hours since; that all he wanted was to clear the air. But, peering down into sunny blue eyes, Josh couldn’t kid himself for long.

Josh slowly ran his thumb along Chris' collarbone and saw Chris' breath hitch, an interruption to the subtle rise and fall of his chest. It made Josh aware of his own breathing, soft and steady, yet it suddenly seemed so loud.

Chris sucked in another small breath as cautious fingers trailed along his neck. Josh was looking at him differently now, no longer searching for angles or shapes, eyes lacking the clinical detachment of before. But Chris didn't shrink away. This time, he welcomed it.

Two days had passed since he'd last been at Josh's apartment, but Chris had never really left. In his mind, he'd been up here in the studio, reliving the way Josh felt against him, how he tasted, the sound Josh made when he'd claimed his mouth. Most of all he'd thought about how Josh had looked at him, and how much he wanted Josh to look at him again, the way he was right now, gaze so heavy and considered like another pair of hands.

Josh was actually _seeing_ him.

Plans were a funny thing. Sometimes all the plans you had - the way you saw your life going - were left unmade, the line between the things you would and wouldn't do blurring and changing without you even noticing. Chris hadn't planned for that chance encounter so many months ago, nor the sessions that followed. He hadn't planned to reconnect with Josh or to fall for him so hard. Sometimes things just happened whether you meant them to or not.

Sometimes plans didn’t count for shit.

He could think it through later; pick it apart and analyse it and whatever the fuck you were supposed to do with things like this. But right now, he wanted this and knew he wasn't alone.

Chris held Josh's wrist again, squeezing gently, and saw an unspoken thought passing behind green eyes, a rare slip. He was going out on a limb, no beer to blame or excuses to give this time, this was all him. But that was okay.

“Chris, I--”

It was Chris who bridged the gap this time, pulling Josh into a kiss that stunned him into inert silence. For a fleeting moment, he felt a flutter of doubt, heart thundering in his chest, but it quickly passed as Josh slowly came out of his stupor, a faint shiver spreading between his shoulder blades when Josh kissed back. It felt different this time, not rushed nor messy. There was eagerness there, but also caution, an unexpected tenderness in the way Josh's thumbs brushed his cheeks and held his face in his hands, careful but possessive.

Josh pulled away, meeting his eye only to lean in again to steal another kiss, then another, then another. Chris reached up, steadying himself on Josh's shoulder, and suddenly it clicked, hesitant want giving way to the dawning certainty that this was meant to happen, and that Josh felt it too.

Chris edged back and felt the mattress sink beneath him as Josh knelt between his legs, the press of Chris’ mouth that bit harder as his fingers tangled in Josh's hair. But Josh didn't rush, slowly lowering him onto his back with a relentless trade of kisses. He ran his hands over Josh's back, urging him impossibly closer, moaning softly, a small sound muffled by a deep kiss as the soft rub of denim lit up his skin. He bent his leg, foot sliding along the length of Josh's calf as he pulled Josh closer, every stroke of tongue and gentle touch adding to the heat spreading through his veins.

“Juh--”

It was Chris’ turn to be silenced, gut tightening as Josh turned his head, mouth turned hard and hungry. He kissed back, drunk on the feeling of Josh's hands on him, the warm weight of his body, moaning again as Josh gripped his thigh, pressing it firmly against his side.

Josh’s shirt was soft weight against his chest and stomach, material rucking up beneath his hands. His jeans were gentle friction against Chris' thighs and crotch as Chris pushed up to meet strained denim, cock stiffening with each slow rock.

Chris pushed at Josh's hip, hating the barriers between them, fumbling blindly with the button of Josh's jeans with one hand. A flash of mild surprise coloured his eyes when Josh gently batted his hand away, and he lifted his head, seeking out Josh's mouth again, but Josh wasn't there.

Chris felt Josh's breath ghost over his jaw, lips brushing the curve of his ear, tugging gently before dipping to the hollow of his throat to plant an open-mouthed kiss against his pulse, warm and biting.

Goosebumps joined the tell-tale blush, blood rising to the surface of Chris' cheeks. He reached up, fingers tight in Josh's hair, and closed his eyes, surrendering to the wet warmth of Josh's mouth as Josh worked his way across his chest.

“Hah--”

Chris sucked in a breath as firm lips brushed his nipple, a darting tongue a prelude to more slow, greedy kisses. He gripped the sheet, lifting his hips to meet the fleeting rub of Josh’s stomach as Josh moved lower, rib and muscle shivering as blunt nails raked his sides. This was happening so differently to how he'd imagined it, guilty daydreams paling in comparison. He couldn't have guessed at how Josh's hands would feel gripping his waist, or the tickling warmth of his lips, teeth grazing his skin.

"Nnh..."

His muscles tensed on instinct as Josh traversed his stomach, pausing to bite his hip before moving on. He felt the heat of Josh's breath and braced himself, lip bitten in anticipation.

\---

Josh glanced up when Chris clutched his shoulder but didn't stop, too wrapped up in the feeling of Chris beneath his hands. He was taking his time - every kiss measured and deliberate, each gentle bite careful and unhurried - but it was difficult not to rush. He smoothed his palm along Chris' leg, tucking his hand under Chris' knee, and kissed his way along his thigh in a series of hungry bites, chasing the lines he’d drawn so many times before.

There had always been a line separating them from this. Now that line was gone, his eagerness threatened to get the better of him, because this was no mere exercise replication, not this time.

Josh’s hand slid lower, past Chris' knee, along his calf. He heard Chris let out a breath between pursed lips, felt Chris squeeze a little harder on his shoulder as he sucked the makings of a bruise into the warm flesh of his thigh, and squeezed back.

No, the line wasn't there anymore, and Josh could finally give in to thoughts he hadn't let himself dwell on, do the things he'd craved for so long, longer than he wanted to admit. Without that line, the possibilities were endless.

His grip tightened, fingers curling around Chris' ankle, holding him in place. He'd wanted to mark Chris up, not just capture a likeness this time. _Brand_ him.

And now, he could.

"Mmhh..."

Josh surfaced, leaving pinkened skin in his wake. Holding Chris’ waist, he began again, lips and tongue trailing across Chris' abdomen, and felt Chris squeeze his shoulder, restless and eager.

\---

Chris felt hot all over, too warm in his skin. After so much time spent observed from afar, it felt like Josh was everywhere, roaming hands and mouth trailing over him so thoroughly he had to stop himself from squirming against the sheets. Josh's cheek was fine sandpaper, his teeth a gentle danger, facts making themselves known as Josh gently squeezed his side, turning his head to trace the faint dusting of hair below his navel, following it down.

“ _Josh_ …”

The sheet bunched between Chris’ fingers, a small, involuntary sound catching in his throat when Josh did it again. His dick twitched in interest, begging for attention. But Josh didn't relent, breath hot and teasing against his stomach, so very, very close.

“Yeah?”

Chris felt the low murmur between the kisses littering his stomach, a simple word spoken in a voice he hadn’t heard before, soft yet heavy with want. He couldn’t answer, not with words, agreement finally manifesting as a small sound.

\---

Josh closed his eyes, nose brushing through dark brown curls, and breathed Chris in, overcome by a flush of pure want. He’d never seen Chris like this. Before, Chris had been a model, a collection of shapes and angles to document, distant and statuesque. Now, Chris was warm flesh beneath his hands. He was every long pull and release of breath, the sheet bunched between his fingers, hard inches nudging against Josh's cheek.

Josh took another heady breath then moved lower, hands tightening on Chris’ hips. He paused, mouth ghosting over the soft underside of Chris’ dick, and felt Chris tense.

"Hahh--"

He held Chris in his hand, transfixed by the hard weight of him against his palm, and watched Chris slide through his loose fist. With a soft hum, Josh pushed the tip between his lips and ran his tongue along the slit, listening to the way Chris inhaled, shaky and strained. A swirl of tongue followed, torturously slow, Josh’s heart beating that little bit faster as Chris gripped his arm. Fuck, he could taste him already.

“Mmhfuh… _hahh--_ ”

Josh sank lower, dipping down an inch, then slowly withdrew. Clutching Chris’ thighs, he did it again, relishing the feel of Chris against his tongue, every slow, steady bob pressing his teeth against his lips.

\---

“Fuck…”

Chris' fingers tightened on Josh’s arm, another weak curse joining his quickening breaths. He still couldn’t believe they were doing this, unable even now to shake the feeling that this was just a daydream bred from wishful thinking. Josh’s hands told him otherwise, fingers gripping his thighs, tongue cradling him as he took Chris deeper.

Slowly, Chris lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows, and looked down the mattress.

Josh was resting on his forearms, paint-marked skin pressed against Chris’ thighs, dark lashes heavy against his cheeks. His hands were spread possessively across Chris’ hips and stomach, smoothing and kneading, and it was only now Chris noticed the way Josh’s right hand trailed over the same patch of flesh, working circles into inked skin with the pad of his thumb.

Chris watched him, breathing through it as he followed the slow, wet slide of Josh’s mouth, hypnotised by the movement of Josh’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“ _Nnh--_ fuck…”

Josh opened his eyes, dragging them up to meet his own, and Chris felt his chest tighten, stomach tensing beneath Josh’s hands. Chris glanced away, eyes closing, and for a moment it was almost too much.

“ _F-fuck…_ ”

Chris smothered a groan, a sharp exhale escaping him before he bit it back. He was starting to sound like a broken record, voice small and shaky, but couldn’t stop uttering the same curses over and over, trailing off to a moan.

When he dared to look again, Josh’s eyes were closed; head bowed, shoulders hunched. He watched Josh pull away, tugging his paint-stained t-shirt up over his head and blindly tossing it aside. The warmth of Josh’s mouth returned, sucking all too briefly before Josh was gone again, moving on.

Chris sank back against the mattress, hissing when Josh retreated to his thigh, skin tingling in the wake of a series of fresh bites hard enough to sting. He stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, focusing on the feeling of Josh’s mouth and hands as they wore him down and picked him apart, dismantling him bit by bit. They didn’t have to rush, they had nowhere to be, but it was difficult to be patient with Josh teasing patterns across his skin. He was aching to get back into Josh’s mouth now, wound up so tightly he felt like he might snap.

He clutched the sheet while Josh made tiny noises against his skin, humming in reply to every stuttered breath. He was so close to asking now, every hot murmur bringing him closer to begging for it.

“J-Josh…”

“ _Mmh…_ ”

Chris pawed at Josh’s arm, felt lean muscle under his fingers, and closed his eyes.

"Fuh-- _please_."

Chris flushed at the slip, acutely aware of the stuttered pitch and bend of his voice and its lightly pleading tone, but it was enough to get Josh’s attention. He felt a loud exhale against his thigh followed by a soft, approving moan, and soon any momentary embarrassment was gone, wiped away.

Josh crept higher, bare shoulders brushing Chris’ inner thighs, tongue dipping into the shallow well of his navel. He paused there then moved lower, lapping at his sac, lips parting, gently sucking before trailing upward with his tongue, tracing the hard length of Chris' dick from base to tip.

Chris bit his lip, a visible shudder running through him when Josh’s hand joined his mouth, working him up between his lips. He was breathing hard now, but he wasn’t alone. He heard the soft creak of the mattress as Josh sank down against it, felt it shift beneath him, and lifted his head, breath catching when he noticed the subtle movement of Josh’s ass as he slowly ground against the bed.

Chris moaned weakly. The idea that this was turning Josh on, that this was getting him off...

“Mmhfuck… Hahh…”

Chris squeezed Josh’s arm, following the curve of his bicep up to his shoulder. His leg was trembling, a mild tremor he couldn’t quite contain while his toes curled and clenched at nothing, but Josh seemed not to notice or care. He sucked in a breath, tensing when Josh paused, and then Josh was moving again, easing back before dipping down just as deep.

All too soon, Josh pulled away, and Chris failed to hide his frustration when Josh didn’t return. But when the crisp sound of Josh’s zipper broke the quiet, hand already on his fly, any disappointment soon disappeared.

Chris sat up, edging forward while Josh hurriedly pushed at his jeans, following his every movement with anticipation.

Josh had always been good-looking, attractive in a way Chris had known but been unable to pinpoint before. Years of absence had made him a stranger, someone different, but with Josh standing there, his eyes alight with latent heat, cheeks flushed with a warm bronze glow, Chris saw it now.

Josh had filled out since school, since college even, broad shoulders tapering to a slender waist. He looked bigger than he did in memory, larger than life, or maybe he just seemed that way, green eyes holding his own. Lit by the studio lamp, his complexion differed, the same warm hues apparent but somewhat changed, the muscles of his torso given definition, hidden until now. His neck was flecked with paint, chest stained with smears and smudges where it had seeped through his shirt, bright colour against black ink and sandy skin.

Josh already had a hard-on, and its slick tip pressed against the cotton fabric, the straining outline of his erection tenting the material of his shorts. He stripped without hesitation, cloth and denim pooling at his ankles before he kicked them loose, stepping out of his clothes.

Chris’ lips parted as he took in the sight of newly-bared skin, eyes drawn to the hard length of Josh's dick and the descending shadow framing it, dark hair in stark relief against his stomach. He felt Josh’s eyes upon him and looked up, and in that moment, Chris realised that he’d never had someone look at him the way Josh was right then, taking in every inch of him. He was exposed, wholly and utterly, with nowhere to hide.

He didn’t want to.

Josh went to move but didn’t get far, stayed by Chris' hand, firm against his thigh. Chris hadn’t meant to stop him, the gesture made on instinct. Looking at Josh, he hadn’t only wanted to touch him, he’d _needed_ to, the compulsion so strong he’d acted without thinking.

Chris peered down at the crooked antlers between his fingers, palm smoothing over ancient lines, faded yet indelible. He lifted his gaze, wanting to say something, to give voice to the thoughts running through his head, but when he searched for words, he couldn’t find them.

It didn’t matter.

He quickly got to his feet, and at once Josh’s mouth was on his. There was nothing timid about the way Josh held him this time, no hesitance anymore as he held Chris against him, gathering him up in his arms.

Chris moaned as Josh kissed him again and again, snatching breathes between deep, biting kisses that made his dick ache and his head swim. He ran his hands over Josh’s back and shoulders, pushing back just as fiercely against the naked press of thighs and chest, and for a moment it felt like he might drown in Josh's attention. But somehow, no matter how much he touched him, it didn’t feel like enough.

Chris took a step back toward the bed, and Josh followed, rushing to meet his mouth again. The thin mattress sank beneath them; the pair unsteady on their knees until Josh sat back on his heels and pulled Chris against him. Chris felt Josh’s fingers in his hair, hand firm on the small of his back, and wrapped his arms around Josh’s neck, losing himself to hungry kisses and grasping hands.

Eventually, Josh pulled away but barely, their faces mere inches apart. He spoke between breaths, voice soft and low.

“You... you done this before?”

Chris blinked as he came to his senses, confused by the question.

“I-- yeah?” he said, frowning.

Josh smiled and softly shook his head.

“No, I... I mean... _this_?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Chris said, finally understanding, “I, uh…” His mouth formed a breathless smile. “...Not on a crate. One time on a beanbag, but…”

It was Josh’s turn to be blindsided. His face lit up, and he let out a gust of incredulous laughter, a bright, uncomplicated sound that made Chris’ chest ache.

“Yeah, I’ve-- yeah,” Chris added and kissed Josh again, not realising how much he wanted to taste his smile until then.

Josh’s mouth widened to a grin, laughing softly until Chris teased his lips apart, growing eager as Josh’s grip tightened on his waist. Again, Josh held him close, the pair locked in a trade of kisses until Josh broke away. He pressed his forehead to Chris', eyes heavy as he found his voice.

“ _Fuck_ , I want you.”

Josh’s voice was husky, a confession spoken through a small, wobbly smile and a breath of not-quite laughter. And he did, Chris knew it, each word hitting him between the ribs with the certainty of an arrow. The proof was there in Josh’s possessive embrace, in his lidded eyes and the kiss-bruised lips lightly brushing his own.

Chris reached between them and held Josh in his hand, slow fire flaring in his loins when Josh moaned softly and closed his eyes. He ran his hand over him, smooth heat beneath his fingers, and felt how hard Josh was, all for him.

Chris kissed Josh again, enamoured with the thought, hand moving with steady insistence as Josh shored up his grip and moaned softly into his mouth. He sank back against the mattress and brought Josh with him, clutching Josh’s shoulder as Josh leaned over him, settling between his legs.

Josh spat into his hand then slipped it between them, hurriedly working them both through his fist before claiming Chris’ mouth once more.

“ _Mmh--_ ”

Chris pressed his hand to Josh’s ass and urged Josh against him, too keen, too needy, but he didn’t care. His mind was turning off bit by bit; he could feel it, the primal part of his brain kicking in and taking over, the world beyond those walls a distant memory. Locked in a rhythm of sweet detrition, he lost himself to the slow, insistent thrusts against his cock and stomach, the press of Josh’s chest against his own, waist firm between his thighs. He couldn’t think straight anymore, couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on, worked up by ardent moans and the steady grind of Josh’s hips until he almost couldn’t take it anymore.

Chris’ eyes barely opened when Josh slowed, clambering over his legs to straddle Chris’ thighs. He watched Josh sit up and glance around, an unsolved puzzle worrying his brow before he dismissed it, spitting into his palm again.

Josh took Chris in hand and worked him through slickened fingers, peering down through heavy gaze as Chris moaned and panted beneath him. Chris held Josh’s thighs, squeezing, and saw the flicker in Josh’s eye as he bit his lip, searching Chris' gaze. There was a question there, asked with the insistent rub of his hand and the unconscious way he rocked in Chris' lap, shifting slightly against his thighs.

“Yeah?”

Chris’ eyes widened as he realised the enormity of what Josh was asking. This wasn’t a small thing, not something they could brush aside or undo. This was _real_.

With Josh in his lap, green eyes drinking him in, the answer was obvious.

Chris nodded, panting, and Josh shuffled forward on his knees, steadying himself on Chris’ chest. Chris watched, eyes fixed on Josh’s face as Josh reached behind him, feeling blindly before guiding Chris between his buttocks, looking back at Chris with the same intense anticipation.

“Haahh--”

Chris gripped Josh’s waist, groaning as Josh slowly pushed back against him, lowering himself in staggered increments. Josh’s features tightened with discomfort then softened, mouth falling open then clenching shut before his expression changed again.

“Hahh-- _f-fuck…_ ”

Josh moved slowly, breathing through it as he fell into a steady rhythm of clench and release, the movement a little smoother each time. He pushed up from the bed, eyes closing as he arched his back.

"Hahh-- _nnhfuck_ , you’re s--”

Josh didn’t finish the thought, cut short as Chris pushed up from the mattress, enveloped by sudden constricting heat as Josh screwed his eyes shut, cursing through a groan.

Chris tried to sit up but failed, pinned to the bed. He looked on, grip tightening on Josh’s sides as he took in the sight of Josh above him, captivated by the movement of his body and his expression, hard and soft all at once.

He palmed Josh’s stomach, searching for purchase in the sweat-damp planes of Josh’s chest before his hand fell away, gripping the sheets. He felt the soft brush and rub of Josh’s cock against his stomach every time Josh sank lower, steadily bearing down on him again and again, the air between them heavy with groans and laboured breath.

“Gu-- _mmh_ , fuck, Chri--”

Chris latched onto Josh’s hips but wasn't guiding them, merely following the persistent rock of Josh's body. He wasn't calling the shots, that much was clear, and the idea sent a thrill through him, a liberating thought. Peering up, he couldn’t help thinking the other times he'd been in this position didn't compare to this. So often he got wrapped up in his head, too busy second-guessing himself to get caught up in the moment, but not this time. He was outside himself now, turning on and off at the same time, reaching with both hands.

“Hahhfuck… _ahh_ yeah…”

He let the sounds come, spurred on by Josh's wavering moans and hazy eyes, any thought of comparison leaving when Josh leaned down to kiss him. He clutched Josh's back, blood singing in his veins as Josh moaned against his mouth. And still, Josh rode him, wrenching sounds from him, tension building with every unrelenting downward thrust.

Chris pulled Josh closer, desperate to touch, to hold, and suddenly found himself thrusting at nothing, cock hard against Josh's thigh as he slipped free, the angle too much sustain.

Josh fumbled between his legs, keen to correct the slip, then paused. Raising himself up, he straddled Chris' thigh and pulled Chris' other leg up alongside his waist, eyes flashing with want and warm amusement as he registered Chris’ surprise. Josh peered down, searching Chris' eyes, but still, he waited. Maybe Chris wasn't in control, but Josh wasn't doing anything without his say-so, that was clear.

A loose muddle of apprehension tangled in Chris’ gut, weak but undeniable. There was no doubting what Josh wanted, asking without asking, dick hard in his hand as he slowly touched himself.

Chris felt Josh run a hand along his thigh, stopping to massage the flesh beneath his fingers, the simple gesture enough to sharpen his thoughts, mind focusing on an irrefutable truth far stronger than his lingering trepidation.

He wanted him; it was that simple.

Chris shifted on the mattress, a slight downward shuffle toward Josh, and nodded eagerly. Bereft of tight heat, he was aching for it now, body wracked with tension.

Josh didn’t need to be told again. He checked his paint-stained hands before settling on his left, raising it to his mouth to hurriedly suck unblemished fingers.

“Nnh--”

Chris tensed, grip tight on Josh’s thigh as Josh pushed into him, first one finger then another. Panting softly, he closed his eyes as Josh stroked him from the inside, steadily fucking into him while Josh looked on, gaze flicking from his busy hand to Chris’ face and back again.

“Hahh…”

Suddenly, Chris felt it deep in the pit of his stomach, and groaned loudly, brow tight with tension as Josh’s fingers curled inside him, firm and searching. He peered up, panting through gritted teeth, little huffs and gasps and moans he couldn’t hold back as he pushed against Josh's hand.

“ _Fuck_ , Chris…”

Josh’s eyes lit up, free hand returning to his cock, pace quickening as Chris bit back a groan.

“ _Hahh…_ ”

A slight twist of Josh’s fingers only increased the urgency of Chris' thoughts, and he followed Josh's lead, touching himself as Josh probed farther, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He heard a shaky approving hum and felt Josh’s gaze upon him, Josh's eyes growing heavier the longer he watched.

Chris opened his eyes when Josh withdrew his hand, and watched Josh spit into his palm once, twice, then again, prepping himself as thoroughly as his patience allowed. Satisfied, he held Chris' leg against his waist, the other stretching out along the length of the mattress between his thighs.

Chris waited with bated breath as Josh leaned over him, bracing himself when he felt Josh hard against him.

“Nnhahh--”

He gripped Josh's arm, hissing through his teeth as Josh entered him, pushing past resistance bit by bit until Josh was flush against him. For a moment, he couldn't think, rendered speechless by the feeling of Josh snug inside him; a hot, thick fullness that furrowed his brow. It wasn’t the first time, but a billion years had passed since then, and the sensation threatened to overwhelm him, almost too much.

Josh looked down at him, face tight, mouth agape. He reached for Chris’ hand, guiding it to his cock, and gave Chris a vague nod of encouragement.

“Juh-- _fuhh…_ ”

Chris obeyed without thinking, a tight whimper trapped in his throat as Josh hovered over him, moving slowly, carefully, face inches from his own.

\---

Josh felt the brush of Chris' knuckles against his stomach and groaned, relishing the tiny moans Chris made between inhale and exhale, coaxed by the slow roll of his hips. He’d never heard Chris sound like this, and the newness of it coupled with the idea that those sounds had been there all along, hidden inside Chris like a secret to unlock, sent a surge of desire through him.

Pressing Chris’ thigh against his stomach, Josh leaned down and kissed him. He reached beneath him, grip firm on Chris’ ass while he steadily worked up into him, their low, heated moans barely muffled by a desperate kiss. He adjusted his grip on Chris’ leg, thigh resting in the crook of his elbow, and pulled Chris more firmly against him, breath loud and heavy. Fuck, Chris felt so much better than he looked though it seemed impossible right then; skin flushed with colour, sweat clinging to his hairline, every little thought and feeling clearly written on his face.

He looked down as he withdrew, only to push up into him again, a harder thrust that raised the pitch of Chris’ voice. Chris’ expression changed, something close to a curse catching in his throat, stuttering out while Josh looked on. But it still didn't feel like enough.

Josh slowed, pulling back, then repositioned the willing blond beneath him, turning him onto his side. He pulled Chris’ leg across the blond's stomach, bent knee pinned to the sheets beside him.

Chris peered up at him, cheek pressed to the mattress, twisting at the waist to meet Josh's eye as Josh hurriedly spat into his hand. A few rushed strokes and Josh lined himself up, savouring the change passing over Chris' face as he entered him again.

It had been difficult for Josh to ignore how good Chris looked in their sessions, no matter how professional he’d tried to be, Chris’ assets acknowledged and made note of whether Josh intended to or not. Now that he could look, Josh intended to make the most of it.

He clutched Chris’ ass as he settled into a rhythm, eyes drawn to the soft jiggle and bounce of firm flesh beneath his fingers, generous handfuls jostled with every thrust. Eyes heavy, Josh spread them apart and watched the blunt thrust and dragging outstroke of his cock as Chris opened around him and drew him in, burying himself deep again and again while Chris moaned and cursed beneath him.

"Hahhfuh-- _ohh_ ... ohhguh-- _mmh_ ... shhi-- _hahh…_ ”

Chris’ hand was tight on Josh’s arm, the other gripping the crumpled sheets as the makings of curse words tumbled from his mouth, stuttering false starts cut short before they fell away. Josh leaned over him and held his cheek. Panting hard, he traced the line of Chris’ jaw with his fingers, turning Chris to face him

Chris met his gaze, leaning into his touch as Josh’s thumb slipped between his lips. His grip tightened on Josh’s wrist as Josh picked up the pace just enough to make Chris moan around it, blue eyes screwing shut as it slipped free smearing a wet trail across Chris’ cheek.

“Mmmmh...”

It seemed that was all Chris could take, and he reached up, holding Josh in a loose headlock as he sought out Josh's mouth. Josh let himself be pulled down, momentarily disarmed, and for the first time, it fully dawned on him, that Chris wasn’t a passive thing to observe, not anymore.

Josh fucked him harder, encouraged by the tight urgency of Chris’ moans, Chris’ open mouth moving vaguely against his own. He was getting there, edging it on it now, but he wanted more. He wanted to see Chris, all of him, _everything_.

The move was rushed, eagerness besting Josh as he pulled away, turning Chris over onto his back while the blond looked up at him in a daze. Josh looked down at him, grip tight on sweat-slick thighs as he spread Chris' legs apart and felt a surge of pure want. Because this was it, just how Josh wanted him.

Chris cried out this time, a loud moan followed by another, the first in a string that filled the room as Josh fucked him, hips canting up in an insistent, steady rhythm. His hand was thrown above his head, ineffectually gripping the wrinkled sheets, one step away from writhing against the mattress. Sweat clung to Chris' temple, his messy blond hair in disarray from grabbing hands. His chest rose and fell in rapid jerks, skin smeared with faint dashes of colour, smudged by the press of their bodies. His legs were splayed wide, trembling thighs spread over Josh’s own, eyes glazed as he fucked his hand, his dick an angry red against flushed skin. Fuck, he was so loud now, keening and whining between each hurried inhale, crying out every time Josh thrust into him, every last scrap of modesty gone.

And Josh couldn’t stop looking at him, even if he’d wanted to. Chris looked so perfect, relaxed and tense all at once, looking up at him through shuttered blue eyes, lost and vague. This was how Josh was meant to see him, he was sure of it, uninhibited and beyond caring, messed up and laid bare. So _honest_.

“Fuck--”

Josh held Chris steady, spreading his hand across his chest, and felt Chris arch up against his touch. He held Chris’ ass with one hand, the other firm on Chris’ waist, following the desperate movement of Chris' hand and the sight of their bodies slotting together, cock sliding in and out, in and out, over and over. He was so close now, straining for it. He wanted to slow down, hold back, but couldn’t stop himself. Chris’ face wouldn’t let him.

Josh leaned over Chris, gathering him up, and felt Chris’ legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his thighs.

“Tha... T-that’s it, that’s--”

He ran his hands over Chris’ thighs then held his hips, the mattress creaking beneath them, protesting every thrust and slap of skin on skin. His voice was breathy, almost desperate.

“Nnh… aah-- f-fuck… cuh... come for me.”    

\---

Chris' eyes focused as Josh met his gaze, every urgent, breathy syllable feeding the ache. He needed little encouragement, his fingers slick with precum, dick glistening wetly as he worked it through his fist.

“ _Ahh…_ ohgod… _hohhgod…_ Fuh--”

He held Josh’s arm, mouth open, jaw hard, his other hand moving with more determination, short quick strokes that got him that much closer.

"Ohh fuh-- k, ju-- _mmh_ ... hahh… _ahh_..."

Chris felt it building as Josh fucked him, hard and deep, nudging inside him just right. He panted, frowning earnestly, the pitch of his voice rising urgently.

“ _Ahh…_ Uh-huh… _Uh-huhh_...”

“Y-yeah?”

Chris couldn’t speak, giving a few shallow nods in reply.

“Uh-huh, uh- _huh_ … _uhh--_ ”

\---

Josh felt Chris clench around him, stomach tensing as he shuddered beneath him, Chris’ expression catching up a split second later as if taken by surprise. He gripped Josh’s arm hard enough to bruise, so tightly it nearly hurt, spilling over his hand and chest, a flustered string of profanities following a sob of relief.

Josh held Chris’ waist in a vice-like grip, riding it out, trying to keep himself together, but no sooner had he felt it, Chris was reaching for him, hand fisting in his Josh's hair while Josh pounded into him.

“Mmmhah-- _Nnnhfu_ \-- _hahh_ , don't st-- _ahhh_ \-- keep-- _Ahh--_ ahh...”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Josh thought to pull back, a distant voice telling him to slow down. But with Chris loud in his ear, pleading words melting away into an incoherent mess of groans and ragged breath, the voice fell quiet.

An urgent moan built in Josh's throat as they clutched each other, Chris' mouth clumsy against his own. And then Josh was gone, groaning into the crook of Chris’ neck, a choked-up sound that grew as his steady rhythm turned desperate, his frenetic thrusts accompanied by a harsh, breathless moan.

Chris held Josh close while he slowed, tension ebbing with each slow thrust until finally, he stopped. He lifted his head, eyes heavy as he pressed his forehead to the bridge of Chris’ nose, pulling back just enough to meet Chris’ eye.

“Haahreyou... hokay?” he asked between breaths.

Chris nodded weakly, legs falling to Josh’s sides, and Josh kissed him again, slow and just a little messy. He stayed there, fingers carding through blond hair while he caught his breath, nipping Chris’ chin before he eased himself apart, falling back on the mattress beside him.

Chris stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the sound of their laboured breath echoing off the walls. He felt colder without Josh's weight over him but did nothing about it, too dazed to act.

“ _Fuck…_ ”

“Yeah…”

“Tha… that was--”

“ _Yeah_...”

Josh took Chris by the arm and placed Chris’ hand on his chest, heartbeat thudding quickly beneath Chris’ palm. He turned his head and gave a weary smile before releasing him, arm flopping back onto the mattress between them. Slowly, their breath began to even out, and the words came a little more easily.

“I, uh… I didn’t know you… a beanbag, huh?”

Chris let out a breath of laughter. “College.”

“Ah. You-uh... You kept that quiet,” Josh snickered, pausing before adding, “And--”

“Better… than the beanbag.”

“Right.”

Josh’s smile grew to a grin, soft snicker becoming a warm chuckle Chris felt through the mattress. He turned his head toward Chris again; face weighed down by a lopsided smile.

“You good?”

Sweat pooled beneath Chris' back, clinging to his hairline and inner thighs. His stomach was sticky, his chest streaked and marked with smutches of paint. His mouth was dry, his legs ached, and he was pretty sure he’d pulled a muscle.

He nodded again, eyes closing briefly. He was very, _very_ good.

Chris gingerly sat up, slowly turning to sit on the edge of the bed, then paused, momentarily overcome by headrush triggered by the change of orientation. Blinking he waited for it to clear. He felt Josh’s hand on his back and glanced over his shoulder to find Josh looking up at him.

“I might go… freshen up,” Chris said, glancing down at himself.

“Right… yeah, okay,” Josh said, his stupid smile growing just a touch.

 

* * *

 

It was brighter in the studio when Chris returned. The blinds were pulled up and the windows left ajar, letting in the afternoon sun, though the smell of sex still lingered in the air, faint but undeniable. Chris half-expected to find Josh where he’d left him, lying in a post-sex stupor, but the daybed was vacant, the crumpled sheet strewn across it left unmade. Josh’s clothes remained on the floor beside it, pooled in a pile where they’d fallen, as if the rapture had happened in Chris’ absence, Josh ascending without him.

A quick scan of the room said otherwise. Josh was by the desk with his back to the door, naked save for his shorts. He turned when he heard Chris enter, padding barefoot across the wooden boards. He seemed a little more with it now, his eyes bright and alert once more.

“Hey,” he said, expression warm. “Better?”

“Yeah. Still can’t get it all off, but…” Chris paused, answering the amusement in Josh’s eye with a smirk. “The _paint_ ,” he clarified, pulling the top of his robe aside enough to show off a faded smudge of colour.

Josh smiled and held up his hands. They were cleaner, but a few blotchy patches remained. His eyes roamed to Chris’ chest then up again. “Suits you.”

Chris followed Josh’s wandering eyes, aware of the slow once over Josh was giving him and caught himself doing the same. Josh was looking at him in that new way again, taking full advantage of the new state of affairs.

“Yeah…” Chris murmured, gaze trailing over Josh’s tattooed side, then his arm, frowning curiously when he reached Josh’s hand.

Noticing, Josh glanced at the small joint held between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, asking the question without saying a word.

Chris huffed, amused, caught up on what Josh had been up to in his absence. Smoking wasn’t something he’d anticipated doing today. Then again, he’d done a lot of things today he would have bet against. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be.

He answered Josh’s mischievous smile with a nod, and Josh sprang to action, fetching the ashtray and a lighter. Josh returned to the daybed and sat sideways upon it, lighting it before sinking back against the mattress. In a few short steps, Chris lay down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, feet skimming the floor.

Josh placed the ashtray on his stomach, arching away from the momentary coolness of stone against his skin. He took a drag, holding it in his chest before letting it out through an exaggerated exhale that briefly clouded the air, gradually dissipating.

“Didn’t think I’d be doing that with  _you_ ,” Josh murmured, part thoughtful, part amused.

Chris glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Yeah, well… I thought you didn’t sleep with models.”

“No,” Josh conceded, “but… I kinda _had_ to. You made me.”

“What?” Chris asked, rolling onto his side and fixing Josh with an incredulous smile. “ _How_?”

“You, looking at me like that, being all pretty and whatever.” Josh glanced at Chris then took another drag, a small smile playing on his lips. His gaze returned to the ceiling, quiet and pensive. “Da Vinci boned one of his models.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. One of his servants. Lived with the guy for thirty years.” Josh took a short drag then held out his hand to Chris. “Art history one oh one, man.”

Chris took it from him. “You’re comparing yourself to Leonardo Da Vinci now?”

“No, but he’s not a bad benchmark to have.” Chuckling to himself, Josh lifted his hand and pointed at the ceiling. “Gotta aim high, right?”

Chris settled on his back, flicking ash into the rock resting on Josh’s stomach, then took a drag, suppressing a small cough. He heard Josh chuckle again, the mattress shifting beneath his shoulders as Josh he stretched his arms above his head, ashtray wobbling on his stomach.

Chris peered up through the thin fug of smoke clouding the air above them, watching it become visible as it caught a shaft of sunlight. It felt nice, lying here like this. Natural. Almost as if nothing at all had happened. The world hadn’t ended, everything was good, _really_ good. But still, an unanswered question remained, not worrying him exactly but needing resolution. This wasn’t how he’d seen today going; a quiet part of him hoping maybe, but certainly not expecting. Now that it  _had_ happened, a new question arose, one that had been playing on his mind ever since he’d left for the shower.

Chris took another drag then held up his hand and felt Josh’s fingers feeling blindly against his own.

“What now?” he asked.

“Pizza, maybe?” Josh said, grinning. “I am officially done with work for the day.”

Chris laughed, but it soon softened. “No, man. I mean…?”

Josh lazily turned his head. Chris was smiling, but there was a sincerity in the way Chris was watching him now, something earnest in his eye. The time for basking carefree in the afterglow was over.

“Well… I’ve still got sketches to finish. Might need you to keep coming back here, if you  _wanna_ come back some more?”

“Is that you asking me out?” Chris asked, half-joking.

“Do you  _want_ me to?”

“I…”

Chris watched Josh balance the joint on the edge of the ashtray, placing it on the mattress as he rolled onto his side. His expression had softened from animated amusement to something far more pensive, soft and musing.

“So, this is where I am,” Josh began. “It kinda depends. I don’t know if this is something you wanted to get out of your system or…” He paused, gaze drawn to a dash of blue paint staining Chris’ neck, expression thoughtful. “I don’t know what this is for you,” he murmured softly, glancing up.

Chris stayed quiet, still smiling, but there was something vaguely troubled about it.

Josh’s gaze returned to Chris’ neck. He traced it with his finger before meeting Chris’ eye again. “For me? I like this,” he mused aloud. “I like this, I like you, and I _really_ liked _that_ , so.”

Chris laughed, uneasy smile blossoming into something warmer, and Josh found himself matching it.

“I like you,” he repeated, more firmly this time, a solid fact.

Gradually, Chris’ laughter died down to a soft chuckle, trailing off to a thoughtful little sigh. Josh was giving him an out, if he wanted it. Perhaps he had built Josh up in his mind, that big appealing unknown side of him, but it felt like more than scratching an itch. Maybe there was an element of that, tension building over the weeks and months, thoughts of what ifs playing on his mind. But that wasn’t all of it, not fully. Chris knew that much.

Josh was watching him curiously, nothing pressing or urgent in his eyes, quiet and patient. Leaning closer, he pushed Chris’ hair back from his face, fingers scraping gently over his scalp.

Chris’ eyes closed for a moment as Josh ran his thumb over the fine hairs on the nape of his neck and suppressed a shiver but couldn’t stop the goose bumps spreading across his skin beneath his robe. When he opened his eyes, Josh was looking back at him, lip bitten between his teeth.

The truth was, going there had become one of Chris’ favourite things, the time he spent up in this room something he looked forward to and thought back on fondly, more than he’d realised until then. The truth was, this didn’t feel like a fling. Looking into Josh’s eyes, Chris knew it was more than that. He  _knew_.

Josh let his hand fall to his side, still watching just as patiently as before. His lips quirked into a smile. “So...?”

Maybe it was his own ineptitude when it came to muddling through ‘big talks’, or maybe it had something to do with the smoke hanging in the air, tickling the fringes of his mind, but Chris wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to say. Even with Josh smiling at him, he couldn’t find the words, and wasn’t sure they would come out how he wanted them to even if he could.

So, he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

It didn’t take much effort to usher Josh onto his back, and Josh certainly didn’t complain when Chris clambered over him, settling in his lap. With a shrug, Chris’ robe slipped from his shoulder, and though he tried to fight it, he couldn’t keep a straight face as Josh’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, his hands already finding Chris’ waist beneath his robe.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [@messofcurls-creative](https://messofcurls-creative.tumblr.com/)


End file.
